


behind the scenes

by sapphee



Category: Front Cover (2015)
Genre: Asian American, Chinese, Chinese American, Chinese Holidays, Chingming Festival, Closeted Character, Diaspora Feels, Dragon Boat Festival, Duanwu Festival, Family, Fix-It, Fluff, Gaysians, Getting Back Together, Happy Ending, Healthy Communication, Identity, Intimacy, LGBTQ Themes, Lunar New Year, M/M, Mandarin, Pining, Romance, Self-Acceptance, Sexual Content, Tomb-Sweeping Festival, Unresolved Romantic Tension, a lifetime to cool down, cantonese, mid-autumn festival, not so much a slow burn as a slow cooldown.........because it takes a lifetime, or rather...............healthy communiGAYSIAN HAHAHA, puns, the movie-length sequel Ryan and Ning deserve, then it gets resolved like.....ten times over. at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-06-17 01:15:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 152,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15450135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphee/pseuds/sapphee
Summary: Seven years later, Ning comes back to New York—[fic theme song] [masterpost][fully edited as of 2/21/2019. biggest changeshere]—and then! they! fall! right! back! in! love!!!or:Ning leaves Ryan’s life for good, and Ryan’s fine. Really. He’s got his hands full with the company he started with his best friend, so it’s not like he has time to think about Ning.(Okay, that’s a lie.)But he’s fine. He’s got friends and family who love him, a job he’s passionate about, and a strained, messy relationship with Chinese culture that keeps him up at night if he thinks about it too hard—but hey, at least it exists! He couldn’t say that seven years ago. What more could he ask for?Okay, maybe he still works too much, and he’s still single, but he likes his life the way it is. He already has everything he needs. Right?Then Ning comes back into his life, asking for Ryan’s help in promoting his newest movie, and Ryan’s not so sure anymore.





	1. same since forever

**Author's Note:**

> UPDATE this has been completely edited as of 2/21/19!
> 
> .......never did i think i would be That Person writing That Fic, fooling myself into believing this fic to be the real true ending and ignoring canon. i sure played myself! 
> 
> this fic is ~80% done, i'd say? it's been completely written and is now being edited, but i've sat on this fic for 6 wks alrdy and am v impatient, so i'll just swap out the unedited parts later. this will update every frigay after 5pm EST (orig i was going to do saturday bc of the pun 'chaturgays' in an upcoming chapter, but i am bad at waiting, so). there are 7 parts to the main story (same # of yrs they've been apart) + 1 bonus-ish part not 'canon' to the fic (bc 8 is a lucky # in chinese culture), so if i've timed it correctly, the day i post #8 should be around when ryan and ning met for the first time in 2015 (mid-autumn festival, which was 9/27/15).
> 
> EDIT OCT. 2018: @ above, past me was ridiculously naive abt how done this fic was at that point (prob more like 30%), but i think it's hilarious, so i'm going to leave that there
> 
> the short story of how i came to write this is that i've been working on [this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12363711) about another canto chinese american character, which examines how he realized he was bi next. to get in the mood, i watched saving face (2004). THEN, i found front cover (2015) and fell in love immediately; i've never seen culture clash as the basis of an enemies-turned-friends-turned-lovers thing before, and i felt the culture clash in my BONES. i have a lot to say about this fic, but not nearly enough space, so here are some links that aren't necessary to read to understand this fic, but give some context for why i wrote this and where i'm coming from: 
> 
> \- if you haven't watched front cover (2015) and don't plan to/don't mind spoilers and are just reading this for the gaysians, i've created a primer [here](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/frontcover) (middle tab tells you the whole plot of the movie, so it might be helpful to read that before diving into this fic)
> 
> \- i also have notes for every chapter (movie meta/fic commentary/cultural context) that you can check out [here](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/behindthescenes) (if you don't want to read all of them/just want to read certain notes).
> 
> \- if you are planning to read all of them (warning: very long, at least 9k) and don't want to keep clicking on each one to uncollapse the note, i have a non-collapsible version of the notes page [here](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/behindbehindthescenes). 
> 
> EDIT: OCT. 2018. '9k' being long is also funny, also leaving that there
> 
> \- of the pre-fic notes, the most important ones to read are prob: 'what to expect in this fic,' 'disclaimers and cultural accuracy,' 'how Chinese is written in this fic,' and 'significance of numbers'
> 
> \- please help me spread the word about this fic by reblogging it [here](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/tagged/behind-the-scenes). thank you! 
> 
> \- i have created a gaylist for it [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLtStoH71eEUsdLEBRosaLNTcCKQ4dlULX)
> 
> \- this is being edited by [inkwellofstars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkwellofstars)
> 
> \- and [this](https://omgcphee.tumblr.com/tagged/behind-the-scenes-masterpost) is a masterpost of all the links (and a moodboard/icons for each chapter)
> 
> quick notes before you start: this fic takes place 7 years after the movie, ryan and ning turned 35 and 39 respectively in dec 2021/the month before this fic begins (jan 2022), and this is a mostly angst-free zone. 
> 
> P.S. At the end of _Front Cover_ (2015), Ning goes back to Beijing without Ryan. Before he leaves, he tells Ryan, “You have to plow in order to harvest. You have to give up something in order to achieve your dream,” suggesting they will never be together, will never see each other again. However, there is sufficient evidence to suggest they still harbor deep feelings for each other, such as Ryan's father commenting that what Ryan and Ning have will take "a lifetime to cool down," the Chinese magazine that published the photo of Ryan and Ning suggesting Ning looks like he is in love, the use of the song “Still Into Me” by Chad Mica during the end credits ("My love still lingers..."), the movie’s [slogan](http://www.frontcoverthemovie.com/) being “Love is **always** in style” (emphasis added), and the director himself stating he ["just really wanted to show two Asian guys falling in love."](https://www.timeout.com/hong-kong/lgbt/filmmaker-ray-yeung-i-just-wanted-to-show-two-asian-guys-in-love) In this essay, I will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan blinks and dumps more milk into his mug. Then, slowly, he says, “That’s funny. I thought you just said that we have a return client, the client is from the Francesca days, and the client is _Ning._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- **warning for ch1, which includes non-graphic homophobic violence in the scene where ryan watches ning's movie with his parents**
> 
> \- link to masterpost: [here](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/tagged/behind-the-scenes-masterpost)
> 
> \- link to notes: [[collapsible version](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/behindthescenes)] // [[non-collapsible (long) version](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/behindbehindthescenes)] 
> 
> \- link to reblog: [here](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/tagged/behind-the-scenes-1)
> 
> \- link to gaylist: [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLtStoH71eEUsdLEBRosaLNTcCKQ4dlULX)
> 
> \- quick ch1 notes: the surname Nguyen is pronounced similar to 'win' and Ng is pronounced 'ing'; 'Mama' is Canto for 'paternal grandma.'

**blessfu ∙ 8d**

Look, Mom and Dad, I made it! What an honor to be on @gaysianamerica’s January cover, and what a way to bring in the new year! This month’s theme: NAVIGAYSIAN. Here’s to us gaysians learning to find our own way (and gay)! @jntlvnmua @reeseistng @fashioneastas @indextrious @ellekimsingh @jiahuiwen #gaysianamerica #gay #lgbt #gaysian #asian #chineseamerican #frontcover #nyc #fashionEASTas #asianamerican #gaysianamerican #fashion #gayfashion #asianfashion #lgbtpoc #letsmake2022gaymazing #happynewyear #itstheyeartwentytwentyFU

[image of _GAYSIAN AMERICA_ ’s January 2022 cover—stylist Ryan Fu is dressed in a rose gold tux and leans back in a modern leather chair, the NYC cityscape behind him; his legs are spread wide, and he props his chin up with a hand, looking pensive:

 _‘Haunting, beautiful, melancholic’—behind the scenes of how the FashionEASTas’ Ryan Fu got his start_ ]

♥ 88,888 likes

> **momdadfu** but when you get husband? can join you on front cover! alway single so lonely take care mom dad
> 
> **nguyennoratakesall** ^^ thirded! also did all the asians collectively decide to come out and bless you with good fortune?
> 
> **jntlvnmua** i fourth + how DID u manage to look so haunting, beautiful, melancholic lol
> 
> **reeseistng** i fifth @momdadfu. WHEN RYAN?
> 
> **blessfu** @jntlvnmua there you go again, fishing for compliments @nguyennoratakesall this is #collaborasian at its best! @reesistng @ all of you no comment.

—

Ryan blinks and dumps more milk into his mug. Then, slowly, he says, “That’s funny. I thought you just said that we have a return client, the client is from the Francesca days, and the client is _Ning._ ”

He’s not proud to admit he practically spits Ning’s name out of his mouth.

Dex squints at him. “I _did_ just say that. How much coffee have you had?”

“It’s my fifth cup.” At Dex’s glance, Ryan defensively adds, “Don’t look at me like that! I couldn’t just leave it at _four._ ”

“Right. Well, you have some time before your trip to France, so I’ll—”

Ryan rests his chin on his steepled fingers and hums, trying and failing to quell the pounding in his ears. He blames it on the caffeine and ignores all other possible reasons. “No, that won’t work.”

“Okay, then when?”

“Never.”

Dex sighs. “James thought you might say that.”

“ _James?_ You talk to _James?_ Why?”

Dex looks at him, unimpressed. “Sometimes our clients need PR, sometimes his need stylists? So we keep in contact. We’ve been doing this for five years, Ryan. You know this.”

“When you made me poach you from Francesca, you were only supposed to continue referring clients to each other. _Talking_ to James, and what certainly sounds like _gossiping,_ was never part of the deal.” Despite all the caffeine, Ryan yawns, because coffee is no match for five hours of sleep a night for two weeks straight.

“Yeah, well, now he’s referring Mr. Qi to us. Benefit of talking to James, which is part of my job.” At least Dex pronounces Ning’s name right. Unlike Francesca.

“Gossiping with, which isn’t.”

“Think of it as networking.”

“Fucking millennials.”

“We’re both millennials.”

“I stand by my statement,” Ryan mutters viciously, getting up to dump more milk into his coffee. “I can’t believe he still works for him. It’s been seven years.”

“He _has_ gotten pretty popular over the past few years. James would be a fool to lose him as a client. Anyway, when James asked, Mr. Qi said he wanted the FashionEASTas to style him for the U.S. leg of his promo tour.”

Ryan ignores how his heart thumps once he realizes Ning somehow knows the name of the company he started two years after he left his life. “Then Hui Wen can do it. He’d probably be happier with her, too, since she was actually born in China—”

“Actually,” Dex interrupts, fidgeting with his sleeves, “he’s specifically asking for _you._ ”

“What? No. No. Wh—”

Ryan’s door flies open. “Hello, wonderful people! Do I smell a new client?” Reese waddles in and immediately goes for Ryan’s mug, inhaling the smell of hazelnut like her life depends on it. Ryan gives her a loose hug and moves out of the way to let her take his chair.

Then he glares at Dex. “You guilted a pregnant woman into coming in for _this?_ ”

Dex raises his hands in defense. “Look, Mr. Qi _really_ wants you to be his stylist again; James said he’ll agree to all of your conditions. Besides, it’s not like you’re going to listen to _me_ about taking a breather, so I had to bring in the big guns.”

“I don’t care. No.” Ryan resolutely doesn’t think about _Ning wanting him_ in any capacity and especially doesn’t conjure up images of Ning’s face from seven years ago, gentle and open with his affection. He doesn’t bring to mind Ning telling him to start his own company after he got fired, either, and definitely doesn’t relive memories of their talks about a future with each other before everything went to shit.

Reese claps her hands. “Great! Now that you’ve gotten that out of your system, let’s talk logistics.”

“No.”

She rolls her eyes. “We’re doing this the hard way, then? Dex, leave us.”

As soon as Dex exits the room, Ryan turns around to face Reese, who is still trying her best to somehow consume his coffee by way of smell. His heart’s not made of stone, so watching all five feet of her struggle to resist his hazelnut coffee—his exact reason for only drinking it when she’s not here—makes him soften a little. “Want some? I have hazelnut soy milk.”

She makes a face. “Of course I do, but I don’t want to pee.”

“Literally everything makes you pee, though,” he points out.

“Okay, true, but you shouldn’t say it.”

Ryan grabs her glittery rainbow mug from the cupboard, pours her some, and sticks it in the microwave. Once it beeps, Ryan grabs a spoon, dumps in eight mini-marshmallows, and presents the mug to her. She cradles the cup with both her hands and sips, before setting it down and making grabby hands at the marshmallows.

After handing the bag to her, he grabs his computer chair and sits backward in it directly across from her, but she says nothing. Just dumps in more marshmallows and sips again. Then she runs her fingers through the long hair on the left side of her head, newly dyed in some kind of galaxy ( _Gaylaxy,_ she'd probably say) ombre color scheme he’d love to drool over if he wasn’t so annoyed right now.

Ryan finally breaks the silence and sighs. “Reese.”

She looks up and rolls her eyes. “I’ve only been gone a month; have you forgotten everything? Did we not agree that I’d only make you best gay at my wedding if you promised to always greet me with my decided-upon title henceforth?”

“Oh my _god,_ you’ve already been married for literally a _year—_ ”

“Hence. Forth.”

“Fine, if it’ll move things along. Mrs. Nguyen-Ng at Life, Glorious Empress of Wordplay, Queen of—”

“Yes, yes, what do you want?”

“Does your wife know you’re here?”

“No. She thinks I’m at home listening to the _Nancy_ podcast and brainstorming a onesie for the baby. The thing is, though, I realized I could be doing that at home, _or_ I could be doing that _here._ With your hazelnut coffee.”

“You shouldn’t be out and about so much. Especially for something this minor. You’re going to stress Nora out.”

“Nora will find out when she comes here later for the shoot. We’ve already talked about it; she trusts me to know when not to push myself. _Hint hint._ ”

“I’m _fine._ ” To prove it, he refills his mug with soy milk and not coffee.

“When we talked about my pregnancy, I very explicitly told you I expected you to give Dex more responsibilities. He’s your assistant; he should be helping you. Instead, here you are, working fourteen-hour days doing both your job and mine. What the hell are we paying him and Elle for, then?”

Ryan groans. “Now you’re keeping tabs on me?”

“I’m worried about you.” Reese shifts on the futon, grabbing a cushion for her back. “Let me be clear—I trust you to run the company on your own. I _don’t_ trust you to take care of yourself.”

“That was clear, thank you. Like I said, I’m fine.”

“You clearly aren’t if you need five cups of coffee to stay awake. Yeah, don’t think I didn’t notice all those mugs on your windowsill.” She then takes the bag of marshmallows in hand again and starts eating them straight out of the bag, forgoing her soy milk completely. “How the hell are you not peeing every five seconds?”

Ryan raises an eyebrow. “Like _you’d_ also leave it at four even if you’d already had enough?”

“Okay, _no,_ but like, my point is, the fact that you would still need four and not five cups of coffee is a problem. You know that. Not to mention—”

“If you’re about to criticize me for still being single _again,_ I might as well go visit my parents.”

Reese gives him a look that makes him feel tiny. Fairly impressive, considering it’s been six years and she’s a whole foot shorter. “You haven’t been visiting your _parents?_ Dude!”

“ _This_ is why! Plus, also, you know, I’ve been _working._ ” He sips again, bouncing his leg to rid himself of the antsiness from all the caffeine and sugar. Maybe Reese has a point.

“Ryan, Ryan, Ryan. My gay best friend, the best possible person I could’ve ever started my own company with, the love of my life in a universe where I am straight, which would never exist because I will always be gay in every universe—”

“—as would I—”

“—as would you, yes,” Reese agrees before pausing to breathe, her light brown skin redder from the heat of her soy milk and from hyping herself up. Unfortunately, that’s when she decides to get serious again (he really has to stop falling for that—it’s been six years; she has _never ever_ let him off the hook, and he loves her for it). “You can’t hide behind work forever.”

“I like being single.”

“You’re a lonely workaholic, and you have been ever since before I even met you. Hookups and guys you never call after the first date don’t count.”

“This is literally the millionth time we’ve had this conversation. What do you want from me?”

“I want you to figure out a healthier work-life balance. And to find someone.”

Ryan sighs. “I’ll let Dex do more, but no guarantees on the latter. Not everyone is lucky enough to get a happy ending like you and Nora, you know.”

She hums. “ _Completely_ unrelated, but when you say you’re going to let Dex do more, does that mean you’re going to let him set up the thing with Ning?”

“Subtle. And no. Absolutely not.”

“Ryan.”

“It happened a long time ago, and I’m over it, but that doesn’t mean I want to see him again, okay?” He averts his eyes downward, gripping his knees to stop his shaking hands.

“It’s a great opportunity to do a ‘return to our roots’ kind of thing, especially with our five-year anniversary coming up. _Your_ roots, really, since you’re the one who worked with him before. Coming full circle, and all. Plus, Ning being way more famous now is sure to help us become higher-profile.”

“We’re already pretty high-profile,” Ryan reminds her. “Francesca was always referring all her Asian clients to us at the beginning, and they helped spread the word after that. I mean, I feel like she was always sending them to us not because she wanted to help us, but because I was her token Asian and she didn’t know how to deal with Asian clients without me, but like—”

“Ryan.”

“I know, I know, it’s a personal problem, and we both know that despite what I just said, he would still help us tremendously by giving us even more exposure, which would help us with our goal of expanding our network of nonwhite models and designers and photographers, to further our overall mission of making the fashion world and pop culture in general less white-dominated. I still don’t want to.”

“Thank you for finally memorizing the mission statement on our company website. It only _took_ you three years.” Reese leans back. “And… okay.”

“Okay? Really?”

“I know him through you, specifically through _post-Ning you._ And my parents because they like his movies, but that’s not the point. Anyway, considering what you were like the year we met—the year after all that happened—if you really, really don’t want to, okay. He just finished doing an exciting movie that aligns with our company’s philosophy and values, so I can see why he’d choose us, and you specifically, to style him—maybe that’s his way of saying he wants to make amends—but that’s all just speculation on my part. So… yeah, okay.”

Ryan narrows his eyes at her. “There’s a ‘but’ coming. You’re never this nice.”

She grins. “Obviously.”

“Well? What is it?”

“You don’t have to take Ning on as a client, _but_ you have to call James and tell him yourself. This is the one thing you can’t make Dex do.”

“There it is,” Ryan says to no one in particular. “She knows I hate confrontation, and she’s still making me do it.”

“Take Ning on, and you wouldn’t have to talk to James at all. You’re learning an essential life lesson either way. Confrontation with Ning or confrontation with James. Your pick.”

“Ha! No way in hell.”

“There you have it, then. Go call James.”

“I hate you. You’re the sister I never wanted. I should‘ve never let you follow me home.”

“That’s James’ requirement, not mine. And as if! You’re the one who hit on me at the bar—”

“—only because I thought you were a guy from behind! Not—”

Someone knocks on his door. “Hey, Ryan, I know I’m a little early, but would you mind if we started right now?”

Ryan scrambles for the door, sighing in relief as he opens it. “That’s perfect, Nora. Come in, come in. Look who’s here to see you!”

“Asshole,” Reese hisses, as Ryan makes his escape, grinning. As she stands up to embrace her wife, Reese mouths something at him. _This isn’t over._

Ryan sticks his hands in his pockets, and his grin fades. Yes, it is.

—

It’s 5 p.m., which means it’s 5 a.m. in China. Perfect timing, since they’re taking a break to refresh Nora’s makeup. Phone to his ear, Ryan ducks out of the shoot with a thumbs-up to Nora, who looks absolutely stunning.

Nora’s white and pale blue gown dramatically billows out like waves all around her as she gives him a regal thumbs-up back. Her medium brown skin is lightly dusted with pink body glitter, and her braided hair has been dyed with the same soft colors to further highlight the theme of trans pride. Reese’s own second-in-command, Elle Kim-Singh, also had the idea to add a rose painstakingly dyed to represent the bi pride flag to Nora’s hair. It’s the perfect shot for the June cover of _GAYSIAN AMERICA._ He can’t wait.

Ryan relaxes upon hearing the phone ring, but his relief is _extremely_ short-lived, because it stops almost immediately, mid-ring.

Mid-first-ring. So much for voicemail.

Fuck.

“Fuck,” Ryan says, which is, of course, when James picks up.

“Ryan.” James sounds way too amused (and awake) at 5 in the morning. “Thank you for getting back to me.”

“I… didn’t think you were going to pick up.” Ryan touches the back of his right ear awkwardly. “That’s why I called now. I didn’t know you were going to be up at f—freaking 5 a.m.”

“I got up at 3 today. Early appointment.”

“Oh.”

“Should we go over logistics?”

“Actually, I’m just calling to decline because you apparently told Reese I had to tell you personally. If he still wants to hire the FashionEASTas, the best I can do is assign someone else.”

“Ning’s asking for you specifically.”

Ryan screws his eyes shut, willing his heart to stop beating like it’s seven years ago again, when Ning had planted the thought of starting his own company in his head, and after Ning left, when all Ryan used to wish for was this exact moment. “I don’t care.”

“He’s willing to pay whatever you want and can also recommend you to more clients in China. Help you build more connections.”

“One, I get plenty of clients all by myself these days, and quite a few are from China, which is really only one of the dozen countries we regularly get clients from, so I don’t need his help. Two, I don’t care about the money. I’m not doing it.”

There’s a pause.

“He says please,” James says, after a moment.

“Oh my _god,_ is he with you right now?” Ryan hears his voice rising in volume, but he can’t do anything to stop it. He forces himself to breathe. “Is he actually in the same damn room with you? Am I on speaker? And why the hell are you guys up so early?”

Oh, so _now_ James shuts up.

“Put me on speaker if you haven’t already, though I feel like you already did.” Ryan clears his throat. Shit, he’s shaking. “Ning, _for the last time,_ I am not interested in working with you. You will be much happier working with someone who’s _actually_ Chinese, not just _‘borrowed from China,’_ and—as you said _many_ times before— _‘normal.’_ I’m hanging up now. And for goodness’ sake, both of you should go back to sleep and wake up at 9 or something. Like regular people.”

As Ryan gets ready to hang up, he hears James murmur, “Okay, okay,” off to the side. Then, louder, presumably because he’s addressing Ryan again, James says, “Wait. Look, Ning’s sorry he said those things about and to you. He’s also sorry for lashing out at you when the magazine speculating about him being gay came out.” Then, pleadingly, “I mailed his latest film to your assistant a few days ago. At least give it a watch before you write him off completely.”

Ryan glares at his desk but sees nothing. He presses his fingers to his temples, trying to ease the pounding. “Why are you still _talking?_ ”

“Because if _he_ were talking, you wouldn’t give him the time of day.”

Ryan snorts. “What gave him _that_ idea? What exactly do you know about what happened between us?”

James sighs. “Just that you two didn’t leave on great terms.” He pauses for half a minute, and Ryan tries not to think about why. “Look. He once told you that when he made it big, he’d be able to turn stories into movies. That’s what he’s doing right now. He also promised you two would make it happen together. That’s why he wants you and no one else. It’s important to him that you’re involved. There are no other candidates on his list; you _are_ his list. He just wants you.”

Heart thumping, Ryan pushes aside memories of fantasizing about Ning saying that exact phrase; it’s been years since he forced himself to forget him. “No. I’m hanging up now.”

“Wait!” Aside from James’ panicked tone, Ryan can hear a quiet, low voice in the background. It still makes his heart race, unfortunately.

“What do you _want,_ when I so clearly want nothing to do with either of you?”

James sighs again. “I’ll make a deal with you—watch the movie, and if you still don’t want to take on the job, fine. I’ll never bring him up again.”

“You’ll stop going through my partner, assistant, and anyone else even remotely associated with me and actually leave me alone?”

“Yes.”

“You’re _that_ confident I’ll work with him after watching this movie.” Ryan laughs disbelievingly. “Really.”

“I don’t know, okay! All I’m asking is that you watch it within the month and get back to me. Depending on how it goes, this could be the last time I ever talk to you about him again—hell, the last time I talk to _you,_ period. And go back to talking to Dex.”

“Will be.”

“Semantics. Do we have a deal?”

“Fine. Bye for real, and go back to sleep.” He finally hangs up, hating that there’s no way to press the button any harder on a touchscreen. He rubs behind his right ear, which only helps a little with his budding migraine, before calling Dex. “Bring me the damn DVD.”

Two minutes after he hangs up, he hears a rap on his door. Dex stands in the doorway, holding out a DVD in his direction. As Ryan glances at the cover, his eyes zero in on Ning’s figure looking off to the side, as he waits with a woman and a young boy to cross a street, but Ryan ignores them. Fuck, Ning is a sight for sore eyes. He really hasn’t changed much in the past seven years.

Ryan glares at Dex, summoning all his energy to keep his voice steady. He clenches his fists to resist grabbing the DVD immediately. “I don’t pay you to conspire with James.”

“No, you pay me to act in the company’s best interest. _This_ is in the company’s best interest. I really think you should take him on.” Dex places the DVD on Ryan’s desk. Ryan turns away, taking it without looking.

“No thanks, I have better things to do. I’m getting rid of it as soon as I have the time.” Ryan turns the DVD over to hide Ning’s face and tosses it into his desk drawer. He’ll just wait out the whole month before calling James to decline; James will never know Ryan didn’t watch it.

Dex watches Ryan throw things into his satchel: his sketchpad, his pencil case, a water bottle. “You’re not the least bit curious about what he’s been doing these past few years? A lot of his initial success from his first movie was due to your work, you know. He wouldn’t have made such a splash internationally otherwise.”

“It was a long time ago, and I really don’t care. I have a bad headache, so I’m leaving now. Can you take it from here?”

“Yeah, of course,” Dex sighs. “And fine, suit yourself.”

“I will.” With that, Ryan strides off quickly to the elevator.

Dex calls after him right before the elevator door closes. “If you do actually get rid of it, I have more copies!”

“Still wouldn’t need them!” Ryan shouts back, and the elevator door slides shut.

—

It’s been fucking years, and the MTA _still_ hasn’t gotten its shit together. He gets stuck on the Manhattan Bridge for so long that he’s forced to watch the sky go from the cloudy gray of the wintry evening to the impenetrable midnight black it always turns even before 8 p.m. because it’s late January. He always leaves work during the winter feeling like the whole day’s already passed him by.

He just wants June to come already, so he can finally fuck off to France and distract himself from the fact that he’s thirty-five now. When did he get so old? He used to think he’d be married or at least have a serious boyfriend by thirty-two; Mom thought (demanded) by thirty. Years and years of casual hookups and flings later, he’s just about ready to write off even a semi-serious boyfriend as something that could actually happen to him, let alone a _husband._

The train lurches for the fifth time in twenty minutes, before stopping again barely a minute later. Great, now they’re stuck in the tunnel. Not that there’s much difference from when they were on the bridge; it’s so dark that he was only able to tell they were outside because of the occasional flashing light from a nearby helicopter.

The loudspeaker crackles and then unceremoniously announces their train is now switching over to another line, which, fine. Not like he wanted to get home any time soon.

When the subway finally pulls into the station, Ryan gets off and starts heading to the first of maybe three trains he’ll need to get home. Just as he’s going up the steps, however, he abruptly changes directions and heads for the platform that’ll take him to his favorite club instead. After the day he’s had, he deserves it.

—

He doesn’t deserve it.

The club is fine. Great, even. He dances with a few guys, giving them easy smiles and flirty hips, but nothing else. A cute guy with light brown skin and nerdy glasses buys him a drink, but then a drunk white guy interrupts to ask if he’d be interested in ‘loving him long time’ and sours his whole night, so he gives up and leaves. It still takes him almost two hours to get home, though, when it really should’ve just taken him less than one. Fuck the MTA.

It’s past midnight, and he needs to get up in five hours, but he’s still wired from all that dancing. He tosses and turns for an hour until he finally gives up, propping himself up against his pillows. Then he sticks a hand in his boxers, pressing the heel of his hand against himself. He gasps, gritting his teeth; it’s been way too long since he’s done this, whether with someone else or by himself.

He starts off thinking about his last hookup, from last year. When had that been? November? October? Ken had let him fuck his mouth, and he thinks about that now: him sprawled out on Ken’s bed, thrusting his hips up as Ken dug his nails into Ryan’s back.

He gets distracted, though, and his mind drifts to the guy he’d been flirting with tonight. Thomas. Engineer. Boyfriend material. Mom and Dad would probably approve of him, which then leads to thoughts of who they had _definitely_ approved of.

Of course.

What if he’s still with that girlfriend of his, still sleeping with men in secret? What if he’s her husband now and has kids with her? What if he’s since ~~moved on~~ gotten a secret boyfriend? It’s been seven years; anything could have happened in all that time, and Ryan would have no idea.

But what if he _hasn’t? Isn’t?_

He shakes his head; he shouldn’t go there.

Still. Helplessly, he thinks about: the cursory glance he’d gotten of well-defined abs before the startled, panicked glances they’d exchanged; a pair of black underwear, all bunched up and still warm, unceremoniously dropped into his hands; his neck gripped by strong hands that looked just like his—a first at the time—as they danced very close in a very loud club, just before their lips met in an explosive kiss. He’s completely hard now, and he _aches._

Head full of what-ifs and what-dids and what-nows, he squeezes his eyes shut so tightly that his vision whites out, and the orgasm pulled from him is gritty and embarrassingly quick.

Gasping, he slumps back against the pillows as his mind, back online, fills up with everything that happened after that kiss. The way they’d moved with each other, like they’d known each other’s bodies for years, not just that one night. The flirting and cuddling that followed—the easy, open affection that came with it, as well as the infatuation. The discussion about the— _their_ —future together.

And everything else: the week he couldn’t go home because his sheets still smelled like him, how he’d thrown himself into work after that and never stopped, the terrifying decision to start the FashionEASTas with Reese despite having known her for only a year (though it definitely felt like longer) and not really trusting they’d actually make it on their own as out gay Chinese American fashion designers.

His eyes flit to the middle drawer of his dresser, where those photos from the shoot Ning did with Gus are still stashed away. Tonight wasn’t the first time he jerked off thinking about him, but he didn’t grab those pictures this time, so he’s definitely calling it a minor victory. Never mind that the image of Ning’s face on the DVD, all stoic and contemplative, is still fresh in his mind ~~and all he needed~~.

Ning is only on his mind because he suddenly wanted to contact him, that’s all. Besides, his last hookup was months ago, so this is more about him being lonely than anything else. It doesn’t mean anything.

—

“You’re staring at me.”

“I can’t watch my best friend and boss make himself a…” Janet pauses, counting off her fingers. “Fifth cup of coffee in as many hours?”

“No, you _can’t,_ because you are _clearly_ judging me.”

“I am _clearly_ just admiring your ability to use only coffee to keep yourself awake at this point. If I were the kind of person to pull all-nighters half the week, I’d be guzzling energy drinks by now.”

“Either talk about what you came in here for or let me enjoy my break in peace.”

“Your RSVP to my wedding.”

“I already replied. Didn’t you get it?”

Janet rolls her eyes. “I clearly invited you and a plus-one.”

“So?”

“So!” Janet steals the matcha éclair from his plate, rips it in two, and pops it in her mouth, ignoring his protests. “Are you going to bring someone?”

“Elle, probably.”

Janet hums. “She’s going with Hui Wen, actually.”

“Damn it. Not that I’m not happy for them, but like. Damn it.”

“Can’t bring Dex either, because he’s bringing his boyfriend and girlfriend.”

“Because they’ll have finished grad school in L.A. by then, right. Fine. I’ll just go alone.”

Janet waggles her eyebrows. “This was supposed to encourage you to get back out there.”

“Why is everyone suddenly out to get me? First my parents, Reese, and now you? You’re not even Chinese! Like, come on, man.”

“We just want you to stop feeling so lonely,” she says softly.

“I’m not lonely!”

“That’s exactly what a lonely person would say.” Janet leans over and steals his cup, grimacing as she downs the rest of the contents because he always drinks his coffee with much less milk than she prefers, which is why he does it. Not that it deters her, evidently. “Ryan. My best friend. The one man who stuck by me when I raised Lakey by myself. The one guy in the world who—”

“What happened to letting me take a break in peace,” Ryan says to no one in particular.

“It’s my _wedding._ You know I have wanted this for you for years. _Nothing_ would make me happier than to see you there with a good-looking man on your arm, a guy who looks at you like you’re his moon and stars—”

“Okay, that is a _huge_ lie. It’s your _wedding._ Marrying Damien, _the_ _man of your dreams,_ would make you—” He can’t even finish because he’s cracking up so hard. They both are.

There’s a knock on the wall next to the doorway to the kitchen. Nora comes in. “Hi. I heard you had éclairs, and I wanted to grab some. Also, Reese said you had some stuff for her? What are you guys talking about?”

Still breathless from laughing, Ryan points to the windowsill. “I need to ask Elle about Reese’s stuff because I’m not completely sure where it is, but that box is all hazelnut, for your wife. Hopefully that’ll distract her from working too hard.”

With perfect timing, the three of them share a look and shake their heads. They all know what Reese is like.

“We’re talking about Ryan being lonely,” Janet says.

“Tattletale. And I’m not lonely!”

“Liar.” Nora munches on a red bean éclair, sighing in delight. “Also, moving three doors down from a Lady M was the best decision you and Reese ever made for this company.”

“Call me biased, but I’d say _starting_ the company was the best decision we ever made. And Reese has _got_ to stop spilling all my dark secrets to you. Some of those are confidential, you know.”

“Reese didn’t have to tell me anything; you’re just that obvious. When’s the last time you went on a date, Ryan?”

“Yeah, _when,_ ” Janet parrots, raising an eyebrow.

“Why are you two bullying me? I have been _working_ because I love our company and want us to succeed, unlike a certain gossipy makeup artist and the gossipy supermodel wife of my business partner.”

“Not right now, though,” Nora points out, helping herself to another éclair. “Right now, you’re lamenting your love life. Lack of, really.”

He sighs. “It’s not that I wouldn’t want someone, okay? Just… I don’t think it’s in the cards right now.”

“Look, we wouldn’t push if we thought you really were happy single,” Nora says gently, looking serious now. “I’ve known you for five years, and all I’ve ever seen you do is work. Aren’t you tired?”

“ _Bye,_ ” Ryan says, rising and dashing for the door. “You two have betrayed me; neither of you is Chinese, and yet you’re giving me the same lecture my parents and Reese have been giving me since day one.”

“Three months to find a plus-one, Ryan!” Janet shouts after him. “Three months, or you’re not my best man!”

“The only person getting a title at your wedding is your daughter!” Ryan shouts back, getting a middle finger in return. He shakes his head and gets back to work.

—

A week later, Ryan enters his office for lunch when he finds his parents already there, looking at everything.

He sighs, putting his half-eaten sandwich down on the table. “Mom, Dad, you know I’m very busy these days—”

“I know, I know,” Mom says, as she starts unloading her bags: a few packs of heaven banknotes, a lighter, a trowel. “I just want drop off what you need to bai Mama and also some soup. Not long, promise.”

Dad walks around the office, examining it all and making Ryan fidget. “You change layout of place.”

Ryan places a hand on the back of his neck awkwardly. “Well, you _did_ say the feng shui was bad before.”

Dad nods approvingly. “Now better. Feel difference?”

“Reese has stopped complaining, which is good enough for me.”

Mom sticks the soup in the microwave. “How she?”

“Good, good. She keeps trying to sneak into work, even though we all keep telling her we don’t need her here.” Ryan turns on his water boiler, and Dad makes a face. “I don’t think she knows how to relax.”

“Just like you,” Dad says. He and Mom sit down on the futon. His frown deepens. “Why not go kitchen and use kettle? You have stove.”

“Takes too long, and I’m on a pretty tight schedule. What’s it even matter? Still tastes the same.”

“Hmph.”

Ryan pours tea for them, and they both tap two fingers on the futon’s armrests in thanks.

Dad takes a sip. “Still. You can change how boil water, but no matter what, always cool down the same. Always take a lifetime. That you can’t change.”

“Could always stick it in the fridge,” Ryan teases, just to see Dad scowl.

“Americans, always so hasty,” Dad mutters, but he’s smiling. He watches Ryan putter about his office. “Slow down, you will be dizzy.”

“Look who’s talking. You’re always talking about I can’t slack off, or I’ll fail,” Ryan says without bite.

Before Dad can answer, Mom says, “We see on WeChat, Ning come back here in few months because of his new movie. You work with him again?”

“He asked, but I’m too busy,” Ryan replies, casually but carefully.

“You both Chinese, should help each other,” Dad says, voice suddenly soft. He clears his throat.

Ryan shakes his head. “No time. He sent me the DVD for the movie, and I’m too busy to even watch it.”

“You have it?《他/她的妻子》? English name, _The Same Wife,_ ” Mom exclaims, gesturing animatedly. “I hear is amazing! First gay movie from mainland China in long time, you know.” _[Literally “His/Her Wife” in Chinese; the pronouns_ he _,_ she _, and_ it _are pronounced identically in both Mandarin and Cantonese]_

Ryan’s hand shakes as he pours steaming soup from the plastic container into his mug. He grips the container with his other hand and finishes pouring. “I’m still very busy, Mom. The DVD’s in that drawer. You can watch it for me and tell me what you think after, okay?”

“No, no, we watch together. How about don’t go out for New Year, we eat at home and watch? It not come out for long time, I can’t wait.”

Dad crosses his arms. “Restaurant too loud, too many people anyway.”

He doesn’t exactly have a good reason to decline, so—“Alright, fine. But only because you really want to see it. For now, though, I have to get back to work, okay? Thanks for bringing me everything.”

Dad watches as Ryan bites into his sandwich, makes adjustments to one of his sketches, and dictates a text to Dex about switching fabrics because the client is allergic. After Mom and Dad stand up from the futon, gripping the armrests for support, Dad places a hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “You very good at this. We proud of you. Take break sometime, okay?”

“Okay,” Ryan stammers, looking away. His face is suddenly hot, his vision growing blurry as he feels his eyes tear up. “Thank you.”

“Take care,” Mom says before walking slowly to the elevator, Dad’s hand on the small of her back, and Ryan feels a lump in his throat. He wipes at his eyes hurriedly before they turn around, giving them a weak wave before the elevator door shuts.

He tries to wash down the lump with coffee, but it doesn’t work.

—

Once upon a time, the only Chinese food Ryan knew how to cook was frozen pork dumplings. Other than that, he only knew how to retrieve things from the top shelf for Mom. Now, with two years’ experience of helping Mom help him cook for work parties under his belt, he’s chopping ginger and steaming fish in the wok, while Mom fusses over the soup to his right.

 _Character development,_ Ryan thinks, before Dad comes over.

“You need to get husband,” Dad says, wagging an admonishing finger at him after presenting him with his and Mom’s red envelopes, “so we no need to give you lai see anymore.”

Ryan says nothing. He ducks his head instead, face flushing and chest expanding with warmth, like he does every time Mom and Dad reference—affirm—his being gay. He’s saved soon after; Mom calls for him to start bringing the food to the table in the living room.

The DVD is already in the DVD player. Heart pounding, Ryan sits down between his parents and starts shoveling food in his mouth as Dad clicks play, heart jolting at Ning’s first appearance. He looks haggard, worn out, defeated.

A flashback shows that he's always been that way; a teenaged version of Ning’s character develops a crush on an older classmate and beats himself up over it constantly, to the point where the self-revulsion rears its ugly head every time he looks at another man even years later. He hides away in a supply closet at school after seeing the classmate kiss his girlfriend. When his friends and parents keep asking him why he’s down, he has no answer; he bears the heartbreak alone. Ryan’s pretty sure he hears Dad clearing his throat several times and Mom sniffling at this point, but he doesn’t look, just helps himself to more homemade char siu.

In a twisted parallel to Ryan’s life, Ning’s character is now the one caught looking at another man in a way straight men don’t. Unlike Ning seven years ago, though, the man just looks back: a statement of fact. _I only know you were looking because I was._

Ryan can't remember how it feels to _not_ look at a man he wanted like that: an observation, a declaration. _Just putting it out there, for you, if you want it._

Had he, with Ning? Looked at Ning the way he looked at his first crush when he was thirteen, before he realized why? Not recognizing his feelings for what they were at first, because Ning was so different from his usual type?

He remembers the last time he _didn't_ look at a man he found attractive like that, though. Knobby-kneed and nineteen, in a gay club for the first time, flanked by Janet for moral support. Eyes roaming the scene for someone to talk to, yes, but he had also been content to just observe because the fact that there were so many men in a space not being pressured to flirt, and certainly _not_ flirting, with women, was… different. Refreshing.

No one talked to him that night. Well, no one he found attractive or cool at the time. No white guys, basically. Hence his frantic efforts to find out how to make them want him, which was, frankly, harmful to his self esteem, but he'd still done it. Cut carbs out of his diet and avoided bulking up his lanky frame, dressed to emphasize that lankiness even more, played the submissive wilting lotus flower.

He shakes his head; his twenties were… damaging, to say the least. So much so that it took him until two years ago to gather the courage to work out and eat toward a bulkier frame, for a body he was more comfortable with. He'd played a certain role for so long that he hadn't realized it _was_ one until…

Until Ning.

Until Ning caught his glance while he was changing. Which had only lasted a second, but Ning had seen it anyway. And immediately flinched away—from him, Ryan had always thought. But now he wonders—

Was Ning flinching from his own desire? Or is that too sympathetic a view of a man whose own issues went beyond his… thing with Ryan?

But surely doing this movie means he's worked through some of it? And surely wanting him back—to be his stylist—also means something?

But he'd seen it.

Ning had seen it because he’d been looking back, in the same way. An observation, a declaration of desire, a statement of fact. He'd been looking back just as long as Ryan had been looking. No confusion about it at all, he'd just looked and put it away because they wouldn't have worked out anyway, until…

He’s halfway through his third helping of char siu, running his tongue along his teeth and half-heartedly trying to puzzle out Mom’s recipe by taste alone like he always does, when a sudden movement on the screen catches his eye and he tunes back in—Ning’s character has just been yanked into an alley. By a group of men led by his own father, no less. The way all the neighborhood kids had done to him when he had looked at his childhood best friend Jimmy Zheng during swimming lessons a little too long, led by none other than Jimmy himself.

Ning’s character lands on the ground with no more than a gasp before the men start punching and kicking him, and the camera pans to him looking up at his father, face all scratched up and nose dripping blood all over his shirt. As the bottom of his father’s boot comes into view, covering up more and more of the resigned expression on Ning’s bloodied face, Ryan flinches despite himself and quickly rises to escape to the kitchen under the guise of getting soup. It’s a testament to how engrossed they are that neither Mom nor Dad teases him and says real Chinese people drink soup before eating, like they always do.

Ryan splashes water on his face and dries off with a napkin before ladling out his soup, the harsh fluorescent lighting a warm welcome from the too dark, too intimate living room. He feels guilty about it but keeps the faucet running anyway to drown out the sounds, only turning it off right before he leaves the kitchen.

When he sits back down on the couch, Mom takes his empty hand, and he lets her, even though his other hand is too shaky for him to lift his bowl to his mouth. It’s not until she starts drawing smiley faces on the back of his hand in a soothing rhythm that his bowl no longer shakes.

Ryan watches as Ning’s character undergoes a transformation and confesses his love to a man, radical in the simplicity of the statement, none of the revulsion so integral to his initial characterization attached. He watches as Ning’s character fights and overcomes his ongoing struggle with expressing physical affection toward another man, kisses the man he’s fallen in love with for the first time without shrinking back like he’s expecting to get hit.

As Ning’s character smiles at the love of his life with no fear, no _shame,_ Ryan tilts his bowl into his mouth at a steeper angle than strictly necessary, so that he can't see the way Ning looks when he's fully accepted himself, even though he knows it's just a movie, because if he doesn't, he knows he would be shaking, bitter and sniveling and downright pathetic. _That should have been me. That should have been_ us.

He sneaks a peek at the screen; Ning looks so beautiful like this, so in love, so at peace with himself, and Ryan can't take it, can't bear to look at him any longer.

Ning’s character gets a happy ending, and Ryan is a coward. Isn’t that something?

After the movie ends, Ryan stares at the credits and sees nothing. He only tears his eyes away when Dad abruptly announces, “Late now, we need to go home.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry I wasn’t watching the time,” Ryan says, slowly blinking, as if he’s coming out of a trance. He scrambles to his feet as Dad practically runs over to the shoe rack for his shoes. Dad nearly tips it over in his haste, flinching when Ryan tries to put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. He pretends he doesn’t see that. “Wait, Dad, you want me to call you a car?”

Dad shakes his head no, eyes on the floor. Gruffly, he says, “Subway.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks for coming,” Ryan says, voice small, as he shows them to the door. “Uh, gong hay fot choy? Happy New Year?”

“Of course, you so busy, we come to you,” Mom replies quietly, clearing her throat. She suddenly grips his hand and kisses it. Dad comes over to stand in front of him, and Ryan suddenly finds Dad’s arms wrapped tightly around him, the first time in years. No one’s eyes are dry.

“Good movie. Ning do good job.” Dad is curt, his movements stilted as he helps Mom with her coat and then puts his own on. He doesn’t look at Ryan at all. “Sorry. We go now.”

Mom and Dad exchange a look, before Mom says something in Cantonese, something about not leaving so quickly, maybe, but Dad just gives a firm shake of his head. She grabs onto his arm, but he only wipes at his face and turns the doorknob.

“Mom, Dad, I—” The things he wants to say don’t know how to travel from his heart to his mouth. In the end, he says the only thing he can, the one phrase they’ve always said that he only deciphered well into his adulthood, for all that English is his first language, not theirs. “Take care, okay? Text me when you get home.”

“Take care,” Mom and Dad both say back, like they always do, as if nothing has changed. Neither looks back.

After Ryan shuts the door, he sits on the couch, thinking. He feels like he owes Ning that, at least. Then, coming to a decision, he replays the film again and again, late into the night.

—

It’s been a week since Lunar New Year, and he’s watched Ning’s film at least a dozen times, even staying up late to watch it a second or third time some nights. He’d be even more sleep-deprived because of all that if Dex hadn’t recently forced him to stop coming in the mornings. He would’ve also fought harder against that if Reese hadn’t also threatened to come in as early as he had been doing.

At least he’d been permitted to stay later in the evenings. _Permitted._ Like he didn’t co-found the company.

Still, this arrangement lets him stay indoors until the sky has turned completely black, which isn’t as bad for his mood as when he’s leaving just as the sun is starting to set and he’s made acutely aware of just how much of the day he’s wasted not getting everything done.

It also lets him call James at a more reasonable hour instead of trying (and failing) to pull one over him like last time.

James picks up mid-first-ring again. “Ryan, hi—”

Ryan interrupts because he knows he’d never get around to saying it otherwise. “I’ll do it. But I have two conditions.”

To his credit, James doesn’t gloat, just gets down to business. “What are they?”

“His entourage can’t be around, and I’ll do it for free. I want him to donate what he would’ve paid me to LGBT rights organizations in China. What are we talking here, interviews? Photo shoots?”

“All kinds of things, really. He has a pretty packed schedule in New York alone, including a screening for critics he absolutely _needs_ to go well.” Ryan can hear James scribbling furiously. “As for your conditions, done and done. Not that he has an entourage nowadays—he’s always by himself.”

Ryan hates himself for it, but asks anyway, swallowing thickly: “What about his girlfriend? Or, I guess, his…”

He can’t bring himself to say it. It burns in his throat. It just sounds so _wrong._

“He broke up with her years ago and hasn’t really dated since.”

He lets out a breath he hates himself for holding. “When?”

There’s a pointed silence. “Five to six years ago? It was big news at the time.”

Hating himself even more, Ryan asks, “Did he ever say why?”

“Can I assume that your curiosity in his well-being indicates that you are more receptive to talking to him now?” James inexplicably—annoyingly—sounds amused. “I can give you his WeChat.”

“Oh, uh, no, that’s okay. Just send me the details, so that I can get started right away.” He touches behind his right ear absentmindedly. “Send them to Dex, too, since you’re best friends, apparently.”

“It’s called networking. You should try it.”

“No thanks. Fucking millennials,” he says the same way an old man might yell at a cloud. He hangs up and starts brewing some chamomile tea because his heart won’t stop beating so fast.

Then, he sticks the DVD into his laptop and replays it for the umpteenth time.

—

February, March, and April pass quickly with the same routine: get up after the six hours of sleep he’s been bullied into getting every night, eat half an avocado at home because Elle and Dex are just going to force him to eat later anyway, get to the office by lunchtime, eat again, finally be allowed to work, leave after dinner with Dex and Elle or with his parents because apparently no one trusts him to stop working and eat, and throw himself into bed before doing it all again the next day.

These past few months aren’t anything out of the ordinary. They’ve been the same since forever. The only difference now is that each day brings him closer to the day Ning comes back, after which he’ll have to repress everything for three weeks before he can go to France to recuperate.

Ryan is a grown man who can take care of himself. He’s thirty-five years old and has hooked up with and dated a fair share of guys since Ning, even with his busy schedule ~~and broken heart~~.

He shouldn’t suddenly be dreaming about him again, which he hasn’t done in _years_ now. He shouldn’t be catching himself worrying about what seeing him again will feel like because he’s over him and no longer cares about him. He _definitely_ shouldn’t be thinking about him late at night when he’s lonely and sad and can no longer blame the gloomy wintry sky for his moodiness, now that they’re in the thick of spring.

And yet, and yet.

Guiltily, he imagines straddling Ning’s lap and cradling his face and kissing him, before breaking apart for air and pressing a thumb to his mouth and laughing breathlessly at the confused look on his face when he doesn’t let him kiss him again just yet. He imagines the way Ning cradles his hips in his warm hands as they rock against each other. He imagines Ning above him, ducking low to kiss him tenderly behind his right ear and lightly nipping his earlobe with his teeth and clasping their hands together tightly as he grinds into him.

When he comes to, he’s still alone in his bed and a mess in all senses of the word. Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fear not, this is the only chapter ning isn't in. you (and ryan) will not have to wait much longer to see him
> 
> also i am always wondering where the gaysians are (i'm lonely being the token gay among my irl friends) and when i came across the front cover imdb page, i saw quite a few gaysians there saying that they related to this movie and i legit started crying, like, [the front cover imdb review section](https://www.imdb.com/title/tt3185602/reviews?ref_=tt_ql_3)... that's where we all are... and also i saw a comment there saying that some of the music the movie used didn't fit well/was not chosen well, and listen... after you watch this movie for the millionth time... it GROWS on you
> 
> P.S. Elizabeth Sung, who played Ryan’s mother, passed away on May 22, 2018. She was 63. Her and Ming Lee’s roles as Ryan’s mom and dad are one of the biggest reasons that I love this movie so much. I’ve been really sad about being closeted lately so finding out this movie exists and watching the scene with Ryan’s parents was honestly healing. Ryan’s parents aren’t perfect, but they accept Ryan being gay and give me hope that it will be okay if I ever get the courage to come out to my own parents, and I just wanted to say thank you. Rest in peace.


	2. master of repression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if Ning acts like nothing happened between them? What if Ning looks at him like he would an acquaintance, a stranger? What if Ning’s _forgotten_ what happened? What if Ning’s forgotten _him?_
> 
> Could Ryan even _survive_ that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy frigay! hope you're ready for ryan being a gay disaster!
> 
> jsyk, ryan and ning get together well before the end of the fic bc idk how to write slow burn and esp not for them. after they get together, they spend the rest of the fic learning to navigate their relationship, which means you don't have much longer to wait!!
> 
> \- **warning for ch2, which includes racism in the scene with gus + light discussion of mama's offscreen death and ryan's grief in the scene where ryan and ning visit ryan's paternal grandparents for tomb-sweeping festival**
> 
> \- link to masterpost: [here](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/tagged/behind-the-scenes-masterpost)
> 
> \- link to notes: [[collapsible version](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/behindthescenes)] // [[non-collapsible (long) version](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/behindbehindthescenes)] 
> 
> \- link to reblog: [here](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/tagged/behind-the-scenes-2)
> 
> \- link to gaylist: [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLtStoH71eEUsdLEBRosaLNTcCKQ4dlULX)
> 
> \- check the notes page for elaboration on how 520 can be a pun for two VERY different things (one in mando and one in canto) + movie-/fic-relevant stuff about [_the butterfly lovers_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Butterfly_Lovers#Legend), which is a chinese legend (and the canto opera that ning and ryan watch with ryan's parents and mama in the movie). 
> 
> here is a very short version that glosses over a lot of details (read the wiki link for the full plot): a girl disguises herself as a boy so she can go to school, falls in love with a boy (a classmate), and is made to wed someone else. heartbroken, the guy's health deteriorates, and he dies. the guy's grave is along the way of the girl's wedding procession, and when they pass by it, she leaps out to go to his grave, and then they are both transformed into butterflies and from then onward are together forever. 
> 
> p.s. i was going over this fic for typos for the thousandth time instead of working on the bonus/not-'canon' ch8 (which is still being written, and if only i would stop thinking of more things to add so that i can actually get to WRITING it) and realized that i'd managed to work in at least one mention of all four major chinese holidays that my family celebrates without noticing (lunar new year, tomb-sweeping/chingming festival, dragon boat/duanwu festival, and mid-autumn festival). like... damn. it all makes sense now why i didn't just end the fic where i'd originally intended to end it [in june of 2022]. it just didn't feel complete w/o all of them
> 
> re: pacing--i wrote this whole thing as a very long one-shot, only breaking it up into chapters after my friend ([inkwellofstars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkwellofstars)) started editing this, so that's why it might not always feel like a self-contained chapter. ch1 covered like everything leading up to ning's return, and after that, the timing is dragged out more (may, the month ning is in nyc to promote his movie, especially)
> 
> yay this time i managed to almost post this at exactly 5:20 pm my time!!!

The baby comes a full two weeks after Reese’s due date. Ryan doesn’t trust the MTA, so he opts for a taxi to go to the hospital, tapping his fingers on his knee as the cab wades through traffic. He passes the time in the waiting room catching some Chanseys on his and Reese’s Pokémon Go accounts to fulfill a promise he made Reese months ago after her pregnancy announcement because they have the same priorities.

After two hours, he’s finally allowed in, bumping into Nora’s and Reese’s parents in the hallway as they go get something to eat at Nora’s urging, and the first— _only_ —thing he sees is the tiny, red bundle in Reese’s arms.

“You? Did _That._ Congrats,” Ryan says, ruffling Reese’s hair.

“Nora helped.”

“All I did was let you break my hand.” By Reese’s side, Nora doesn’t lift her eyes off their baby for even one moment, which, fair. They’re _tiny._

“Nora helped,” Reese repeats. “Ready for our parents to argue about their Chinese and Vietnamese names?”

“Well. My mom _did_ bring a list,” Nora says mildly.

“So did mine,” Reese says just as mildly. “Watch this poor tiny baby have something like six names because of our parents _and_ us, since we can’t decide on an English name, either.”

“You could give them a nickname,” Ryan suggests.

Reese scrunches up her face. “Wouldn’t that technically be a _seventh_ name?”

“Point,” Ryan reluctantly agrees. He leans over some more, trying to get a better look at the baby’s face. “Hi, baby.”

The baby opens their eyes, and _oh._

The thing is, Ryan wouldn’t call himself a fan of kids. He tolerates them fine—has to, being Janet’s go-to babysitter for Lakey, and okay, maybe he’d give his life for Lakey, but she’s the exception, not the rule—but he’s never felt the urge to coo at them or have them or whatever. But— _oh._

He doesn’t blink for a good minute, not until the baby yawns and closes their eyes again. Even afterward, he can’t stop looking at them, helplessly staring at those tiny eyelids and hoping to catch another glimpse of those pupils. Their nose is just like Nora’s, the dimples all Reese’s. If he’s floored just by the sight of them, he can’t even begin to imagine how Nora and Reese must feel.

He’s kind of relieved the baby didn’t meet his eyes; he’s pretty sure he would just lose his train of thought again.

Maybe he never felt the urge because he never let himself think about it. Mom’s immediate reaction to Ryan coming out was to despair about never having grandkids, and now Mom and Dad only ever bring grandkids up in a mostly jokey way.

As for himself… well. He’s always had a lot of conflicting thoughts about fatherhood, okay? The spiteful ones about being a much better father than his own. The sad ones about never subjecting a child to someone like himself as a dad because he still has all that baggage about getting beaten up by the other kids once again and hiding in a bathroom stall to take stock of his injuries. The fantastical ones about being the parent he’d needed growing up as a closeted gay boy whose act everyone saw through anyway.

A toddler with his too-big ears they won’t grow into for _years_ running over to their grandparents and chattering away in a mix of English and Cantonese that Ryan is slightly jealous of ~~and maybe some Mandarin thrown in, even~~. A small child with his nose sitting on top of his desk in his office, dangling little feet off of it, as they “help” Ryan with his work. A curious kid with his chin asking him about their ancestors during their annual trip to the cemetery during Tomb-Sweeping Festival, and Ryan turning to smile at his husband, who is broad-shouldered and quietly watching them and the source of all that Manda—

Wait, _what?_

“Earth to Ryan, helloooooooo?” Reese waves a hand in front of Ryan’s face.

”Sorry, got distracted,” Ryan says sheepishly, blinking back to the present. “You have a _really_ cute baby. Could you repeat that?”

“I _said,_ did you manage to catch anything good for me?” Reese asks, as Nora shakes her head.

“Oh yeah, I got you a Chansey. Show you later because it seems like bad form to distract you from your baby right now.” Ryan reaches into his bag. “Also, before I forget, I come bearing gifts. These are coupons my parents have been collecting for take-out, grocery delivery, laundry, you name it. I managed to convince Mom to refrain from giving you traditional Chinese medicine. No doubt your parents have that front covered.”

Nora takes the envelope from him, looking at the neatly organized piles inside, color-coded by rubber bands, while Reese lets out a sigh of relief. “I love your parents, honestly. They think of _everything._ ”

“Please don’t tell them that, or I’ll never hear the end of it.” He thumbs open his phone to check his email for the delivery confirmation. “I also sent you a gift basket with some candles and bath bombs to help you relax. There’s also, like, five onesies in there, too. Just to start with,” he adds. “I have a lot of ideas.”

Reese snorts. “You think I don’t?”

“Well, you’re going to be way too busy and tired to execute any of those ideas, so I took the liberty of getting a headstart. Let’s also not forget that you can’t leave the house for a month, so just be grateful I made you some _and_ will be catching Pokémon for you, okay?” he teases. Reese’s arms are still full of baby, so he just gently squeezes her wrist.

Oh no, Reese is tearing up. He pretends not to notice, even when her voice starts to wobble. “You know the only tradition I’m following is the part where I don’t leave the house, right? So you are allowed—in fact, _encouraged_ —to visit us.”

“Whenever you guys need someone to help you cook, do laundry, whatever—I’m there,” Ryan promises. His phone chimes, and he glances at the caller ID. “It’s my parents. They want to know if they can come in to see the baby yet.”

“Sure, sure, I’ll get them,” Nora replies, finally tearing her gaze away from the now fussy bundle. “Wait, babe, we should probably…”

“Ooh, yeah. Ryan.” Reese fixes him with a serious stare completely undiminished by the fact that her eyes are still wet. “We talked about it, and Ryan, we want you to be their godfather.”

Ryan’s jaw drops. His brain literally short-circuits, despite knowing there’s an entire world of difference between father and godfather. “Me? Are you sure? You know I’m… I don’t… I’m not… Why?”

Reese raises an eyebrow, as if to say, _Really?_ “You’re good with kids. I mean, Lakey is great, and you were there most of the time.”

“Because Janet was there _all of the time,_ so any effect I had on her could be reduced!”

“Ryan. Hon. Take the compliment. I know you _think_ you’re bad with kids because of the Pad Fiasco of 2020, but you’re not the intellectual here.”

“Still. There’s a difference between being an occasional babysitter and being their… their godfather.”

“Ryan. Don’t be obtuse. You would’ve never just been an _occasional babysitter._ You’re at _least_ the dorky uncle.” Reese stares at him like he’s grown a second head. Nora, too. “Ryan, no jokes—did you not think we would want you to be in their life?”

“Not until… this moment.” Ryan fiddles helplessly with his phone, face as red as the blanket the baby’s wrapped in. “I… it’s just… they’re _so small._ ”

“I think,” Reese says to Nora after a moment of just observing him in silence, “we might have broken Ryan.”

“Might have,” Ryan agrees, putting a hand in his hair awkwardly. His eyes are still on the baby.

“Just think about it, okay?” Nora gets up and starts walking toward the door. Only then does Ryan realize someone’s just knocked on the door. She gives him a smile. “You know we don’t make this decision lightly.”

“I…” He stares at the floor, heart racing. Him? A—“Dad, Mom, hey! Let me get those for you.”

—

Ning flies into JFK on a Saturday morning, the first one in May. Ryan doesn’t meet him at the airport. They’re not friends, and anyway, he’s staying in his office to finish a few more sketches to bring to Ning as soon as he gets off work, taking advantage of a rare day Elle and Dex aren’t in to pester him about eating enough and sleeping enough and taking enough breaks. Sketches he just hadn’t had a chance to work on until now because he’s been so busy, not because he’s been avoiding it; he’s a mature guy who doesn’t let things like a broken heart get in the way of his work.

They haven’t even spoken to each other directly yet—Ryan referred Ning to Hui Wen instead to talk about preliminary ideas and guidelines because Hui Wen is fluent in Mandarin and way better at understanding Chinese cultural references and idioms and everything else. The memory of how his heart pounded when Ning (through James) refused to talk to her until he got confirmation that he was still going to work with Ryan makes its way into his mind, but he just shuts off his phone, hides it, and continues working.

He does a dozen sketches of various outfits, imagining how Ning would look in them (and out) all the while. Would Ning even like his ideas? Or would he just fire him and look for someone else, like he’d done the first time?

He rolls his eyes at himself. Why does that even matter? If Ning doesn’t like his work, fine. His ego can take it, and anyway, it would mean no more Ning. He pretends he doesn’t feel a pang in his chest at the thought of that.

With that, he pushes down his anxiety even further and refocuses so hard that it’s not until he pinpoints his squinting to be the source of his headache, and the reason for his squinting is—

Because the sun has just set. Ah.

Crap.

The blues and purples of the night sky are quickly deepening, the streets illuminated by twinkling lights. He was supposed to be at Ning’s hotel an hour ago.

It’s nearing 8:30 p.m., and now that he’s blinked the work haze away, he’s realizing just how hungry he is. Ning is twenty minutes away by subway; he’ll just drop the sketches off before ~~running away~~ going home.

He trips down the stairs of the station and drops his MetroCard twice trying to swipe in, but at least he manages to get on the train without any other mishaps.

As the subway doors slide shut, he can almost hear the _Law and Order_ ‘DUN, DUN’ at the end of the opening sequence, right before the latest poor soul happens upon the murder of the week. The latest poor soul being _him,_ and considering that he’s kind of squeamish about dead bodies, he’d be a very poor one indeed. Now his heart is pounding so loudly at the thought of _being_ the dead body that he can barely hear the train announcer, and he can feel rivulets of sweat making their way downtown.

The stops pass him by, one by one, but he only sees headlines: “Ryan Fu Found Dead In New York.” Would they even call him by his name? Is he famous enough for that? Maybe it’d just be “Asian Man Found Dead In New York.” Or, if it was _The New York Post,_ it’d probably be “Random Asian Found Dead In New York.”

They’d all probably make note of his bachelor status in the obituary and nothing else—but would they even find him worth reporting on in the first place, since he’s Asian, not white?

Would only _Sing Tao Daily_ report his death? Or would they also not because he is (was?) gay?

He knows his parents and Janet and Reese and Nora would miss him, but would—

Would _he_ not care because he’s already moved on? Or would he not have even cared in the first place because there was nothing for him to move on _from?_

Great. Now he’s sad about his hypothetical death. He’s being completely ridiculous and oh god the next stop is his stop how did he not notice. At least he didn’t spend the subway ride thinking about Ning.

Well. Not the whole time, at least.

The train lurches slightly, and he sways unsteadily, despite being an adept subway surfer after years and years of practice. He forces himself to exhale as the doors open. No going back.

Okay.

He can do this.

—

He can’t do this.

The receptionist at the front desk offers to let Ryan talk to Ning, but he declines because sound can’t actually come out of his mouth right now. He just squeaks out a thanks and goes straight up, stopping in front of Ning’s suite. This will be the first time they’ve seen each other in seven years, and he’s not ready.

What if Ning acts like nothing happened between them? What if Ning looks at him like he would an acquaintance, a stranger? What if Ning’s _forgotten_ what happened? What if Ning’s forgotten _him?_

Could Ryan even _survive_ that?

He has to roll his eyes at himself just then—of _course_ Ning didn’t forget; he’s the one who fucking tracked him down in the first place. Unless Ryan really _was_ that forgettable because Ning charmed and wooed and bedded an unsuspecting sucker with his extremely pretty abs and made-in-China ribbing and romantically impossible plans for a future together in every city he touched down in—

Okay, now he’s just being unnecessarily mean. To both Ning and himself.

He takes a deep breath, checking the room number again. 520. Hui Wen once told him that meant _I love you_ in Mandarin because of how similar the numbers sound to the phrase. Ryan had brought it up to his parents without specifying it was in Mandarin, which was when Dad joked, “No, is _I don’t want you_ ”— and oh _god,_ that is a _terrible_ thought to be having right about now.

He definitely can’t do this. How did he ever think he _could?_

But he has to. The sooner he knocks, the faster he can leave. He can’t argue with that logic, so he gets ready to knock—

Just as the door opens. Of course. Ryan’s knuckles land on Ning’s pajama-clad chest. Of _course._

Neither of them says anything for a moment.

Ryan removes his hand. “Sorry. I lost track of time at work.”

Ning lets him in. His hair’s disheveled, his feet are bare and in slippers, and his pajamas look very, very soft. They look pretty similar to what Ning wore for that shoot so many years ago, which is enough for Ryan’s throat to go dry.

As Ryan toes off his shoes despite Ning’s protests, he feels Ning’s eyes all over him, tracking every line and movement. He shivers a little because it feels good to be noticed like this, and he lets himself bask in Ning's gaze for a moment before coming back to his senses.

It’s just because it's been a while, he reminds himself. Not because it's Ning. Still, he flushes and keeps his eyes lowered.

“You… haven’t changed at all. Only hair a little longer.” Ning’s voice has deepened a little, and Ryan’s heart aches a little at how it’s changed from how he’s been imagining it all this time. Only now does it really hit him that it’s been seven years since they’ve seen each other, and everything he feels about Ning—the desire, the heartache, the ambivalence—courses through him as fresh and strong as when they parted ways so long ago. “I am sorry for my clothes. I was sleeping.”

Ryan resolutely does not think about Ning, a bed, or Ning in bed. “Asian don’t raisin, right?”

Ning fetches a pair of slippers for him. As Ryan puts them on, Ning goes over to the mirror above the fireplace mantel and rubs his chin thoughtfully, which unfortunately brings Ryan’s attention to his day-old stubble. “No, I believe I look older now.”

Ryan allows himself the indulgence of scanning the entirety of Ning’s frame—his shoulders have gotten broader, he’s let his hair grow out a little longer than before, and it’s going to be a long time before Ryan forgets how solid Ning’s chest felt from earlier. He essentially looks like he’s grown into the Hot Dad Bod he’d only started working on seven years ago. “Ha. _Yeah,_ you do.”

Ning rolls his eyes. “Thanks.”

“Hey, I didn’t say you don’t look good! Time’s been kind to you, man.”

A loaded silence follows, and yeah, Ryan definitely deserved that.

Ning clears his throat. “Anyway, I was just reheating.” He walks into the kitchen, coming back out with plates of dumplings and stir-fried vegetables. “You look like you not eat yet. Not too many carbs, see?”

“Oh! You remembered. Thank you. You really didn’t have to do this. I was just going to eat when I got home,” Ryan calls after Ning awkwardly when Ning ducks back into the kitchen. Because Ryan’s not done making a fool out of himself, his stomach grumbles right as Ning reappears. Ning back in NYC, more attractive than ever, making him food? How exactly is he supposed to deal?

“Whoever crosses the door is a guest, remember? Your assistant say you very busy today, so I know you no time for food.” Ning passes him a bowl of soup. “Come, come. What are your ideas for the shoot?”

Ryan sits down across from Ning, studying him as he grabs a pair of chopsticks and quickly starts putting some dumplings on a plate for him. The circles under Ning’s eyes are dark, dark as his own, and a few hairs at the back of his head are sticking up.

He thinks about how Ning must have gone to Chinatown immediately after arriving at JFK, all jet-lagged and lethargic, before crashing once he’d arrived at the hotel. He guesses Ning then probably had to get to work as soon as he woke up—how Ning must have had very little time to sleep off the jet lag before forcing himself out of bed to prepare everything.

Maybe he overslept and worried about not having the food ready by the time Ryan came. Maybe he sat around staring at his phone like Ryan had tried so hard not to do all day, wondering where Ryan was. Maybe he even wondered if Ryan was actually going to come, if Ryan had decided he didn’t want to work with Ning after all, if Ryan was just stringing him along to humiliate him.

Ryan is a master of repression though, so all he does is raise an eyebrow. “Weren’t you the one who said: ‘Eat, no talk; sleep, no speak; now no work, we enjoy eat’? Why are we talking shop during dinner?”

Ning stops in the middle of giving Ryan a fifth dumpling, looking surprised. Unlike Ryan, Ning doesn’t need to stab it to pick it up. “You still remember?”

Ryan looks back, the back of his neck starting to heat up. “I just mean, like, of course we can talk about it right now, but I’ve been working all day and you look like you’re still jet-lagged, so we could take a break with dinner before diving in.” Ryan knows he’s talking a mile a minute, but he just can’t stop. “Well, not to just assume you still have time. Me coming late must have really thrown a wrench into your plans, huh? Sorry for inconveniencing you. Because you probably have better things to do or maybe you just want to go back to sleep again! Yeah, since you only flew in this morning! Oh my god, I forgot to ask about your flight. I’m sorry. How wa—”

There’s only silence from Ning’s end. Fuck. Why is he so embarrassing?

Ryan drops his chopsticks on the table with a clatter and shuts his eyes tight. “I’ll… I’ll see myself out.”

As he gets up, Ning reaches for his hand and grips it tightly. Ryan pulls away out of reflex, momentarily stunned by the jolt of electricity stemming from their point of contact. He stays standing, while Ning stays seated, and it’s awkward as hell.

It takes Ning a moment to notice he’s still reaching out to Ryan. He brings his hand back to his side of the table, smiling ruefully. “It’s been a while, huh?”

Ryan huffs out a slight laugh. “Yeah. Sorry. Again. Can we just… pretend the past five minutes didn’t happen?” _That_ we _didn't happen?_

“Okay. After I say this one thing.” Ning takes a deep breath. “I am sorry I said being gay is abnormal. I should not have put how I felt about… myself on you. And for asking you to lie about yourself to that magazine.”

“Oh, uh, thank you.” Ryan’s face grows even hotter. “For my part, I’m sorry, too.”

Ning looks puzzled. “For what?”

“I don’t know if you remember, but we’d just started working together and were meeting at this French restaurant, and I said…” He grimaces, remembering how his stomach dropped while watching _The Same Wife_ for the first time. “I said being gay isn’t that hard now. That obviously isn’t the case—you’ve been living it every day. Over the years, I’ve become more aware of things, but it just… didn’t really hit me, I guess, until I was watching your movie with my parents. I don’t think it really hit _them_ either, until we saw you on the screen. So yeah, I’m sorry for saying that and also for getting angry at you for staying in the closet. You obviously have your reasons, and just because I can’t imagine going back into the closet for myself doesn’t mean it’s the same for you.”

“So your parents make you watch, huh?” Ning’s mouth quirks into a slight smile. “I should thank them.”

“Don’t deflect. I did shitty things to you. You should’ve just punched me in the face when I said it wasn’t hard being gay now.”

“At the restaurant? In front of everyone?” Ning’s full-on grinning now, and it’s contagious.

“Yeah. Just knock me out. I deserved it.”

“I did bad things to you, too,” Ning reminds him, turning away from him.

Something about Ning’s expression and posture tugs at him, makes everything in his chest that still hurts even after seven years loosen a little. Because Ning’s clearly trying, and the fact that he brought it up first must mean he’s thought about them and the way things ended between them and _this moment right now_ a lot over the years.

No, he _definitely_ has—he’s finally getting to tell the stories he wants to tell, and he was willing to do anything and everything to get Ryan involved. All to fulfill a heady promise made over sake, the last good moment they shared before everything fell apart.

“It’s not okay, but… it will be. You can probably tell, but I carried a lot of shit these past seven years, and it’s been hard trying to let go of it. But I’m tired of hurting, so.” He shrugs.

“I’m just glad you let me say sorry. I can’t go longer without you knowing I am. I don’t ask forgiveness. I just want you to know.”

“Same for me, too.” Tentatively, Ryan asks, “Do you still… feel that way about yourself?” When Ning doesn't answer, he adds hastily, “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that.”

Ning waves off his apology, looking pensive. “Sometimes. Growing up learning this, hard to forget. But is easier with the movie.”

The silence that follows is extremely awkward and unfortunately keeps growing because neither of them knows what to say. Which makes sense, considering how they barely knew each other the first time around, and now they have seven years of separation piled on top of that.

Thankfully, Ryan’s empty stomach makes itself known again with a growl, jolting Ning back into action. He goes back into the kitchen to grab soy sauce and vinegar for the dumplings, and the heaviness of the atmosphere falls away.

“We work after food, huh? You’re _learning._ ” Ning’s smile is small but delighted, quietly gleeful, bringing Ryan back to happier times. Well, one. When Ning kissed him the morning after, while Ryan got dressed. “If not too late for you, of course.”

“It’s fine.” He won’t be sleeping, anyway—hard to, when he’ll be too busy overanalyzing everything from tonight.

“Well, after we talk about shoot, I will help you call taxi and you text when you arrive, okay?”

“You really don’t have to; I’ll just take the subway.”

“No, I call. You still come here after all day working, let me do this for you,” Ning says, voice softening toward the end. “After long day, you deserve quiet ride home.”

Ryan swallows hard. None of this is convincing him not to jerk off with the hand that accidentally touched Ning’s chest when he gets home. “Okay. That’d be really nice of you.”

The look they share is… charged, to say the least. Ning breaks it gently, pointing at Ryan’s plate with his chopsticks. “快点，吃吧，吃吧！It’s getting cold.” _[“Hurry up, eat, eat!” in Mandarin]_

—

The beginning of the photo shoot goes well, mostly because Gus and Ning don’t say much. Gus makes Ning do a few poses in the gazebo before having him loosen his tie and unbutton more of his shirt. Then he has Ning lose the tie entirely, which is when Ryan walks off to a secluded corner of the garden for some air.

He’s thinking about his other ideas for Ning’s upcoming critic screening when he hears shouting, which is not good. He takes off running.

When Ryan gets back to the gazebo, Gus’ arms are crossed, and Ning looks unimpressed. “What’s going on?”

“This isn’t going to work,” Gus says, as Ryan walks closer.

“What isn’t?”

Gus gestures at Ning’s face. “His eyes! You can barely see them! They were already small enough to begin with, but he keeps squinting.”

“We shoot in sunlight, and I lean against wall like you ask,” Ning says calmly. “Of course I squint; the sun is in my eyes.”

Gus turns back to Ryan. “Can we get some tape here?”

“ _What?_ You can’t be serious.” Ryan crosses his arms, too. His heart throws itself against his rib cage, trying to break free.

“To help with the squinting, obviously.” Gus smirks. “I won't even make you be the one to do it this time. Well?”

“That’s ridiculous.” Ryan’s voice shakes, but he persists. “Gus, this is why I don’t like working with you. You’re always saying shit.”

Gus shrugs. “Just how I take good photos, man. Just how I work.”

“That’s clearly crap you always say to justify your racism. Let’s just change where Ning stands, okay?”

“No.” Gus turns back to the rest of the crew, none of whom have moved. “You guys have tape, or what?”

Ryan quietly takes in Gus’ smug, cruel grin. When he speaks, he can barely hear himself over the hammering in his ears. “Keep on saying shit like that, and I’m kicking you off the set. Ning and I invited you as a gesture of goodwill, since we have a reunion of sorts going on here. You already know what this shoot would do for your career—can you imagine what this would do for a newcomer covering one of the most famous Chinese actors in the world? Who happens to be in the most buzzed-about movie coming out of China right now, by the way?”

Gus spits on the grass and gets up in Ryan’s face. Everything in him is screaming for him to get away because Gus is definitely bulkier than he is, but he’s frozen. “Now listen to me here,” Gus hisses. “You can’t t—”

“ _Out._ ”

Gus turns back around. Ning is barely two inches away from him. _Looming,_ more like. Eyes steely and mouth set in a firm line, Ning steps in between Ryan and Gus, his movements deliberate and tense. Ryan unconsciously leans into the heat radiating off Ning’s body. “Excuse me?”

“I am tired of your complaining all the time. I will not work with you anymore.” Ning turns to Ryan. His tone is far gentler when he addresses Ryan, a stark contrast to the barely restrained fury he directed at Gus just seconds ago. “Can you please make sure new photographer allows reporters to come interview me? Does not have to be Chinese. Thank you.”

“You can’t do that,” Gus snarls at Ning.

“No, but I can,” Ryan says, finding his voice again. “We’re no longer working with you. Leave.”

Gus opens his mouth, but he must think better of it, because he shuts it again and just storms off. Everyone else applauds, and some even cheer.

Ryan himself wants to bask in the victory, but if they don’t find a replacement soon, Ning’s meticulously scheduled press tour will be for naught. “Dex? Can you—”

“On it. Take a break, everyone.”

Ryan turns to Ning. “I’m going to walk back to the office. Want to join me for a drink?”

The walk back only takes ten minutes, but their hands keep brushing against each other, so it feels like forever. Ryan doesn’t dare look over at Ning after the first attempt, when he’d nearly tripped at the sight of Ning’s pensive profile, his furrowed brow.

When they arrive, Ryan pours them both sake and puts on a random playlist to calm his still jittery nerves.

“You have sake,” Ning says, surprised.

“I get a lot of Asian clients,” Ryan explains. “I developed a taste for it. You proud of me? I’m learning.”

“Ha.”

Ryan takes a sip. “God, every time I work with him, he gets worse. Not that that happens often anymore because I have more control now, but he still pops up sometimes. I’m really sorry about us being behind schedule.”

“I don’t mind. I hate him.”

“I want to thank you.”

Ning’s quiet for a moment. “For what?”

Ryan swallows, feeling his face redden, because ugh, feelings. “You gave me the courage to tell him off. Usually, I’m the punching bag—he likes to take pictures of the subject’s reactions while he says shit to me. He doesn’t usually target them. But he did today and I just—” He presses the spot behind his right ear. “—got brave, I guess. I hated how he was talking to you, and you shouldn’t have had to put up with that crap in the first place, so I spoke up.”

Ning looks at him. “I think you always brave, actually. Takes a lot to…” He clears his throat, looking away for a second before looking back. “To go against parents’ wishes and do fashion, start own company. And now, it’s five years.”

Ryan laughs and shakes his head. “If you say so.”

The song ends and switches to one he used to listen to back when he was ~~openly~~ moping about Ning. Whoops. He must’ve accidentally put on his Songs for the Broken-Hearted playlist.

“ _And I still feel you’re into me and the way we thought as one_ / _Two broken souls we lived undone, undone together,_ ” the singer croons, and only then does Ryan catch himself humming along.

Ryan’s just going to keep on embarrassing himself and showing his hand around Ning, apparently, so he doesn’t even try to fight his blush. Instead, he slumps back against the futon and sighs. At Ning’s questioning glance, Ryan explains, “I haven’t heard this song in so long that I forgot this was even in there. Still tells the story of my life, though.”

The beat’s still super catchy after all these years, so he starts lazily waving his hands around like he’s conducting.

Ning stands up and extends a hand. “Dance with me?”

If Ryan were more optimistic, _braver,_ he’d say he was letting himself be wooed, but he’s not, so he just smiles and lets himself get pulled up. They start dancing, Ning more self-consciously than Ryan, eventually getting pulled into each other’s orbits. Ryan stumbles on air at the proximity, and Ning’s hands linger on Ryan’s hips as he steadies him.

Just as Ning lets go, though, Ryan covers Ning’s hands with his own. Ning gently moves his hands to Ryan’s waist, holding them in place, and his grip tightens, just a little. Ryan gives him a small smile, and Ning smiles back, but the eye contact gets overwhelming quickly, so he lays his head on Ning’s chest instead, listening to his heartbeat. They’re swaying too slowly to match the tempo of the song by now, but Ryan’s too terrified to lift his head to look at him, so they just continue swaying in the same spot.

Ryan feels Ning’s exhale through his hair. Ning swallows. “I—”

There’s a knock on the door. Ryan startles, making to break apart as he remembers himself, but Ning gives his waist a gentle tug, so he stays in place.

“Hey boss, got you a replacement,” Dex calls from outside. “I was really lucky, too. Someone canceled on Annie, so they’re free now. Is Ning with you?”

Ryan clumsily and reluctantly leaves Ning’s arms, and they look at each other. Ning’s eyes are dark but not unreadable: an observation, a declaration of desire, a statement of fact. He licks his lips.

“We’ll be right out,” Ryan says, eyes not leaving Ning’s. Looking back. “Thanks, Dex.”

“Thank you,” Ning echoes, before smoothing down his shirt and opening the door.

Half-dazed, Ryan follows.

—

Ning has been in every single day this week, but Ryan is still a little surprised at how easy he is to work with. He’s polite to everyone, accepts feedback on his suggestions, and asks questions when he doesn’t understand something. Sometimes he jokes around with Ryan, but he keeps his distance, doesn’t stray to the issues of their past.

Today Ning is quiet, modeling the dozens of things Ryan has him try on, in the hopes Ryan will be able to nail down an idea for the critic screening. It’s the most high-profile thing in Ning’s schedule and therefore the most stressful of them all.

Ning thanks Hui Wen and Janet when they help him fix his hair and makeup, but that’s pretty much the only thing he says all day. In fact, he’s so quiet that it’s not until Ryan hears a stomach growling and sees Ning looking embarrassed that he realizes it’s well past lunchtime.

“Sorry, Ning, lost track of time,” Ryan says as he looks through the photos he took of Ning. “Go get lunch. If you want any recommendations, we have a binder of takeout menus over there. Just come back in an hour. That should give me enough time to fix things.” He makes some notes about adjustments he has to make and rummages through his pockets for the protein bar he’d brought especially for today to capitalize on the fact that Dex and Elle are too busy working with other clients to babysit him.

For a minute, Ning just stands there, watching him eat and work at the same time. Ryan pays him no mind, frowning as he looks at his sketchbook again.

“Ryan.” Out of the corner of Ryan’s eye, he sees Ning make some sort of face. He looks up to meet Ning’s grimace head-on. “You live like this?”

“Just today because I’m a little behind on time. Don’t worry about me. Just go get food.”

“If you had boyfriend, he would make sure you eat, take care of you.”

“I’d hope so,” Ryan agrees, “but as you have so _clearly_ observed, I don’t have time for a boyfriend.”

Ning doesn't say anything for a minute, so Ryan figures it's over until—“I cook for you.”

Ryan stops working, taking in Ning’s deepening frown. How is he still so _handsome?_ “What?”

“My _observation_ is: you have kitchen here and Whole Foods across street, so I cook for you.”

“This office is _my_ office, which means the door you crossed is _my_ door, so you—”

Ning rolls his eyes. “—cannot eat just half candy bar.”

“A _protein_ bar. It’s healthy, see?”

“That is why I cook for you. Takeout too much oil and salt.”

“I’ve been doing this for a long time, and I know my own body, okay?” Ryan waves him away. “You seriously don’t have to cook for me; just go eat.”

Ning gives him a charged look, and Ryan has the weirdest thought in his head that Ning’s about to say something like _I know it, too,_ but he doesn’t, of course. All he actually says is, “I want to,” and then he’s off, presumably to go get groceries.

Janet whistles, pausing briefly in her methodical dissection of her pasta from somewhere behind him, and only then does Ryan realize she’s been watching the whole time.

So has Nora, apparently, who’s now hunted down another chair and sits backward on it across from her. Wasn’t she supposed to be on a _whole other floor?_

“Not that I don’t love you, but why are you here, Nora?” Ryan says, feeling his face redden.

“I was about to go get lunch because Hui Wen came by to grab Elle and set me free, and then I passed by _this,_ ” Nora replies, gesturing meaningfully.

Janet comes over and nudges him with her hip. He obliges, letting her take half his seat. “You should bring him to the wedding.”

“Yeah, dude, like? Reese has never done that for me, and she’s my _wife._ ”

“She also can’t cook,” Ryan points out.

“Not the point.”

“Okay, but like, _Damien_ cooks for me when work gets hairy.”

“He’s a professional chef,” Ryan points out again. “Isn’t it kind of, like, his thing?”

They both ignore him.

“This is a man who’s really into you, Ryan,” Nora says seriously. “Like, if only you could see the way he looks at you. Like he wants to eat you… up, out—I’ll let you decide how you want to end that sentence.”

Ryan groans. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“He literally said _a boyfriend would take care of you,_ and then he _literally started taking care of you. That_ was a _declaration,_ Ryan. A declaration of fucking _intent_. And with that smolder, a declaration of _fucking_ intent. He wants to be _your boyfriend._ ”

He rolls his eyes. “Can we please not gossip about him when he’s not in the room?”

Nora strokes her chin thoughtfully. “Is it still gossiping if it’s true?”

“Yes?” Ryan throws up his hands. “Whether it’s true or not has nothing to do with whether it’s gossiping!”

Nora claps her hands. “So you’re not denying it! You’re aware Ning’s still into you!”

“What, did you take lessons from Reese on how to twist people’s words or something? There’s nothing going on between us.”

“But you _want_ something to happen.” Janet spears more pasta with her fork before offering some to him, and he wrinkles his nose. Ew, carbs.

“What I want has nothing to do with the job. Also, I don’t want anything to happen because I’m over him, okay?”

“I still say you should bring him as your plus-one to my wedding. Even if he’s not a _plus-one_ plus-one, he would bring some celebrity star power energy to my big day.”

“You’re just hoping you can convince him to sing a song at your wedding because Reese showed you that video of him singing _Unchained Melody_ for a celebrity spoof of _Voice of China_ that one time,” Ryan says flatly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Janet pauses. “Is it really that obvious?”

“Look, I watched it myself, and the judges were all literally _swooning._ ” Nora drums her fingers on her chair. “You’d know yourself if you would just watch it, Ryan.”

“I’m not—"

He cuts himself off when Ning comes back in, holding a Whole Foods bag. “Hello again,” Ning says sheepishly when he sees the three of them with their heads together, quickly dropping his initial frown upon re-entering the room. He lifts the bag up. “Do you have aprons?”

Nora shoots up from her chair so quickly that it almost topples over. “I’ll help! I know where they are,” she says, taking him by the arm. As they walk to the kitchen, Nora turns back to them and mouths, _Baby, let him be your man._

Ryan shakes his head, finishes off his protein bar, and resolutely tunes Janet out until Ning comes back to announce that the food is ready.

—

After a long day made longer due to his physical proximity to Ning, Ryan unwinds by checking Grindr, which he hasn’t done in a while.

> **but asian dick is too small for topping tho?**

He sighs, scrubbing a hand across his face. Now he remembers why.

It’s been five years since he added _RICE QUEENS DON’T INTERACT / DON’T ASSUME I BOTTOM_ to his profile description, and he’s not sure if it’s actually helped because he still gets plenty of racist messages, fetishistic or otherwise. He’s debating whether he wants to exert energy replying when his phone rings.

“Oh, thank god,” he mutters, closing Grindr and uninstalling it for good measure. “Hello?”

“Ryan, is Ning.” Ning sounds hesitant, nervous. “I am sorry to bother you after work, but James just told me about another interview with Chinese publication. Can you shop with me on Sunday? I don’t know what to wear. Is okay if you can’t or don’t want. I know you have other things to do.”

“I would love to, but I can’t this weekend because of Tomb-Sweeping Festival stuff.”

“Tomb-Sweeping Festival? Qingming?”

“Yes? Google says it’s Chingming, which I’m pretty sure is the same thing. Anyway, yeah, I have to go visit Mama. Well, and technically Yehyeh as well, but I never knew him because he died long before I was born. I know the holiday was last month, but I was too busy, so I’m going this weekend to make up for it.”

When Ning speaks next, his voice is much softer. “When did she…”

“Five years ago, in her sleep.” Ryan clears his throat. “She wasn’t in any pain.”

“Could I… come with you? Or would your parents not like? How are they?”

“They’re good. Retired now, thanks for asking. They keep pressuring me about finding a husband. Yes, I think they’d be okay with you coming with me. They were always disappointed I let you get away because they had this fantasy of you always being there to remind me about Chinese holidays and traditions and to teach me Chinese. Mama, especially,” Ryan says, laughing, because he thought Ning would get a kick out of that. When only an awkward silence follows, he grimaces. “That… definitely sounded better in my head. Anyway, I’m just going by myself because they already went without me. You wouldn’t need to bring or prepare anything. My mom’s already given me instructions.”

“If it’s okay, I will come with you.”

Ryan swallows. “Sure. After that, I could go to your hotel and help you put together an outfit from your closet. Or you could borrow something from me. Your shoulders are gigantic now, but I’m pretty sure I’d be able to find something.”

“Haha. Funny.”

“It’s a compliment!” Ryan clears his throat because he’s edging way too close to flirting. “For Sunday, how’s 9 a.m.?”

“Sounds good. See you then.”

“Great, see you.” He falls on his bed, face first. First Ning’s cooking for him, now he’s going to go with him to pay his respects to Mama? When’s the universe going to let him live?

—

A whole cloud of butterflies has taken over the grass and sky, and the sun is warm on his face. Mama and Yehyeh are somewhere to the right of a grove of bamboo trees, Ryan recalls, as he looks for their joint tombstone.

“Here we are,” Ryan says lightly. He crouches in front of Mama’s side of the tombstone and looks at her picture, startling two butterflies that had been perching there. They don’t fly far though, twirling around each other a few inches above the marble. “Hi Mama, I brought Ning with me this time. Remember him? Yep, he _does_ look older now. It’s because he keeps forgetting to shave.” He then turns to the other side. “Hi, Yehyeh. I’m sure Mama has told you _all_ about Ning by now.”

“Hey,” Ning protests. Then, more gently, “Hi, Mama and Yehyeh. Mama, I don’t know if you remember me, but is nice to see you. I hear your grandson still not married. He’s very sorry to disappoint you once again.”

Ryan shoves Ning lightly, and Ning has to press a hand to the grass to regain his balance. Then Ryan bows deferentially three times, and Ning copies him.

“What next?”

“Shouldn’t you know better than me?”

Ning shakes his head. “China is a big country. Every region, every family does things differently. I will follow you.”

“Hang on, Mom gave me instructions.” Ryan checks WeChat. “Help me plant these flowers?”

Ning uses a trowel to dig a hole for the chrysanthemums, Mama’s favorite, while Ryan searches for a long enough stick nearby, taking care not to walk in front of any tombstones. They lay out the food offerings on a giant piece of cardboard, which Ning had given him a puzzled look for earlier. A butterfly lands on the palm of Ning’s hand, and Ryan has him stay still as he snaps a picture, before they gently shoo it away and get back to work.

Ryan holds out a few heaven banknotes as Ning strikes a match, lighting them on fire and tossing them into the metal bucket in front of the tombstone. Ryan uses the stick to help the fire along, captivated by the way the fire licks at the banknotes and turns them into ash.

“After Mama died, things were hard for a while. I felt really bad about sucking at Chinese and just being Chinese in general. There were so many things I wanted to tell her before she died but couldn’t, since my Cantonese is so bad.” Ryan pauses to take a few breaths, though he knows they won’t stop his voice from trembling. He splits his pile of banknotes in half, and their fingers touch momentarily when Ning takes his share and adds a few to the fire. “Then she was gone, and I decided that I wasn’t going to keep the Asian part of me as far away as I did before because, well. I already couldn’t say goodbye to Mama properly—I don’t want the same thing to happen with the rest of my family. Which is kind of related to why I started the FashionEASTas. And…”

“And?” Ning prompts, when Ryan doesn’t continue.

Ryan shakes his head. “It’s silly. Like, what am I, five? Never mind.”

“Tell me.”

Ryan sighs, fingers rubbing the spot behind his right ear. “Mama’s passing was a wake-up call. That… one day, my parents will be gone, which raises the question of whether I’ll be able to put them to rest properly. And then of how _I_ would want to…” He shakes his head, not wanting to go there today. “After they go, if I don’t start learning Cantonese or asking Mom how she makes my favorite foods now, there’ll be no one left in the world who knows what I mean when I say I want to eat _that chicken dish_ or _that fish thing_ or _whatever my favorite melon is called._ It’ll all die with them, and I won't be able to pass that on to my kids. If I ever have any. But it’s, like, weird, you know? I’m half-worried Mom’s going to ask me why I’m suddenly so interested, and then I’ll have to explain I’m afraid of them dying and how much less Chinese I’m going to be than I already am after she and Dad are gone, which is definitely something I don’t want to be."

Ning tosses more heaven banknotes into the fire. The heat from the fire rises up, threatening to lick both their faces. He’s quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Always criticizing you for not being in touch with Chinese culture. Not easy on you, but I did not think.”

They finish burning the heaven banknotes. Ryan finds the plastic forks he stashed at the bottom of the bag with the heaven banknotes and spears a slice of white sugar sponge cake for Ning. The sponge cake is in danger of cleaving into two and falling off the fork because Ryan accidentally stabbed it too hard, so Ning takes a bite while it's still in Ryan’s hand before taking the fork from him, his fingers brushing against Ryan’s.

Looking at the hills covered in tombstones around them, they eat in silence for a few minutes before Ryan remembers to respond. “It was a long time ago.” He shrugs. “It’s fine.”

If Ryan had gone with his parents last month, they’d see more people around, all doing the same thing. It would be livelier, too, as everyone chattered away in Cantonese or Mandarin to catch everyone else up on their lives.

Before, he didn’t understand that jovial atmosphere; death is supposed to be a somber fact of life, isn’t it? But then, that first time he and his parents visited Mama, when the pain was still fresh, and the three of them were too quiet as they stood in front of her portrait, hearing everyone else carry on with their de facto family reunions had helped him remember—life goes on. Always does and always will, like it does now.

“Not really.”

Ryan shakes himself out of his thoughts as he takes off the covers of the containers holding char siu, chicken, and hard-boiled eggs, before motioning for Ning to help himself. He clears his throat again. “You weren’t the first person to say that to me; my parents do it on a daily basis. Besides, I’ve changed for the better.” He waggles his eyebrows. “I’m no longer a potato queen—nowadays, I just like a strong jawline. Nice abs don’t hurt, either.”

Ning snorts before shoving him toward the butterflies, and a few land on Ryan’s shirt and arms. Ning makes him stay still as he takes a few pictures, laughing in surprise when a few decide to rest on his shoulders, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ryan: but does he like me tho :(
> 
> p.s. 'baby let him be your man' is a ref to "let me" by zayn malik [and is basically what ning in this fic is like in a nutshell]
> 
> p.p.s. special thanks again to my beta [inkwellofstars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkwellofstars), who is constantly begging me to desc characters' actions instead of having them talk for pages and pages while floating in space. 
> 
> p.p.p.s. also you know that part where ryan's gaydreaming about raising his future kids and having a certain someone as his husband? you also have inkwellofstars to thank for that bc i orig was just like 'okay he's going to just think about having kids here' and then she was like 'coward. why not just have him talk about his husband outright? you clearly want to go there, so. go. there.'


	3. play by ear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Screw his brains out. Move in with him at his swanky hotel. Put a ring on it. Don’t let him and those abs get away ever again.” Janet turns around, and Ryan helps her clasp the necklace her fiancé gave her two months ago around her neck.
> 
> “He made me friendzone him in public. I said we were brothers. _Brothers,_ Janet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy frigay again!! this chapter is particularly long (~12k vs. the 8-9k of the first 2 chapters), and covers a little bit more of may 2022, including the critic screening. idk anything about the acting/fashion worlds so apologies for the inaccuracies! 
> 
> just as a heads-up, ning does not come out (or get outed) in this fic. this particular chapter includes a parallel to when ning was asked about a picture of him and ryan in the movie, but it's spun differently, and while the end of this chapter is.......very suggestive regarding what ning has to say about the picture (and ryan), it's treated as ning supporting a friend and staying devoted to promoting his new movie/being an ally
> 
> \- link to masterpost: [here](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/tagged/behind-the-scenes-masterpost)
> 
> \- link to notes: [[collapsible version](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/behindthescenes)] // [[non-collapsible (long) version](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/behindbehindthescenes)] 
> 
> \- link to reblog: [here](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/tagged/behind-the-scenes-3)
> 
> \- link to gaylist: [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLtStoH71eEUsdLEBRosaLNTcCKQ4dlULX)
> 
> \- quick note for ch3: a 'cooperative marriage' (形婚) is when gay men and lesbians arrange to marry each other in mainland china, where marriage is defined as being between a man and a woman (links to some articles about this in the notes). also check the notes if you're interested in reading more about my thoughts wrt the screening scene

Reese cackles when Ryan tells her about kicking Gus out of the photo shoot. “God, I hate him so much.”

“Same.”

“Soooooooo. Things are going well with Ning, then?” She leans forward. “You haven’t sent me distress texts in an entire week. Need I remind you just how long Ning’s been back?”

Ryan feels his face heat up. “It’s coming along. Ning’s been really attentive and thoughtful with his feedback. Sometimes I feel like he spends more time on my job than I do.”

“Well, he _did_ spend a lot of time on the set for this movie. He’s credited as co-director, you know, so he’s clearly dedicated. Not surprising he’d invest a lot of time and energy into promo stuff, too.”

“Really? I had no idea.”

“It’s right there in the credits! Also, my parents told me about this interview he did right before coming here, actually. Ning talks about how he kept nagging the director about the role and did something like three auditions to make sure he’d be cast—she was so fed up with him that she basically made him promise he’d never contact her again if he failed that last one.” She looks at him wryly. “Sound familiar?”

Ryan’s face is burning. “So he’s persistent.”

Reese gives him a look. “So he _tries._ So he _puts himself out there._ So he _goes after what he wants._ ”

He sighs. Not like he doesn’t know that about him—learned that the hard way seven years ago. “What else was in the interview?”

She raises an eyebrow at his abrupt change in subject but doesn’t call him out on it. “He also apparently badgered his gay friends for advice about portraying the character respectfully and fought to change a bunch of lines because he didn’t want viewers to walk out of the theater thinking the movie’s message was that being gay is a burden.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Ryan.” She sounds accusing. “Do you not know anything about this movie other than its plot?”

“I’ve seen it, like, a dozen times,” Ryan defends himself, knowing he’s just opening himself up to more teasing. “I don’t know how to put it, but it’s at _least_ two levels above _knowing the plot._ Also, you know, I’ve been _busy._ ”

“Mhm, _busy._ ”

“Working! I’ve been busy working!”

“I’m just saying, this is clearly a movie Ning cares deeply about. It might score you a bunch of prospective boyfriend points with him.”

“What, no excuses about how I should be doing that anyway because it’ll help me do a better styling job?” Ryan asks wryly.

“Why lie? It is what it is.”

“Right.”

“You look happy,” Reese observes quietly. “More relaxed—no, more… at peace.”

“If you’re saying it’s all because of Ning—”

“Because you got to say things you didn’t get to say seven years ago and _hear_ them, too,” Reese says, and Ryan shuts up. “Just, I know him mainly from my parents telling me about his interviews and five minutes of small talk the other day, and even _I_ could tell doing this movie was no small thing for him. He kept thanking me for convincing you to work with him, until I interrupted to tell him about how I cried watching his movie and how proud my whole family was of him, and he was just shocked. He told me this whole time, he’d just been so focused on putting this movie out there that he hadn’t really stopped to think about its impact on actual people. And something tells me you’ve been too distracted by your crush on him to tell him what you thought about his film, despite having watched it _a dozen times._ Also, why did you have to tell him my name is _Theresa?_ ”

“I didn’t! He probably got that from our website!” Ryan makes a face. “And ugh. You’re right. About me not telling him what I thought about the film, not the distraction part. I just never told him because it’s, you know, feelings and stuff, and that’s always awkward.”

“One, you didn’t deny you have a crush. I’ll remember that. Two, what’s a little awkwardness when he’s going to feel so happy knowing his movie made you so happy?” She smirks. “Plus, if it helps you two get a little closer…”

“I already told you, I can't…” He looks away. “You know I still…”

“That’s why I want you guys to talk it out. You’re clearly not completely over what happened seven years ago, and it’s holding you back. From dating, yeah, but also just in general. You’re lonely, not because you’re single, but because you still expect everyone you meet to pull the same stunt he did back then, potential boyfriends _and_ friends. You're afraid to open up.”

“I mean, you’re here. And Nora.” Reese raises an eyebrow, waiting. “Because you were patient _and_ persistent as hell with me,” Ryan concedes. “Maybe I haven’t let in anyone after that.” He shakes his head. “Sorry, Reese. Looks like all that effort you spent on me was for nothing.”

Reese throws a cushion at him.

“Hey! You’re messing up my hair!”

“Healing isn’t linear! Just because you haven’t welcomed new people in your life doesn’t mean you haven’t made any progress! You’re a lot more open with the people already in your life now!” Reese exclaims, punctuating each sentence with another cushion pelted at Ryan.

He dodges the next one, fortunately, but he doesn’t get to celebrate the victory because she keeps coming at him with more. “Why the _fuck_ do you have so many?”

“For this very reason!” After lobbing two more projectiles at him, Reese blessedly comes to a stop, making a face.

Ryan makes the same face back, before burying his face in his hands. “Why are you literally always right?”

“Because I’m a woman, and I’ve been socialized my entire life to perform emotional labor for other people, especially men. Duh.” Reese rolls her eyes. “You owe me. So much.”

“When you can drink hazelnut coffee again, I’ll get you a year’s supply,” he promises.

“You better. I’ll also need, like, eight packs of Peeps.”

“Ugh. I don’t know how you can stand to eat those. You have bad taste.”

“Uh, _excuse me,_ did I ever judge you for your taste in men when I first met you?”

“Uh, _yes?_ You literally judged me for it every chance you got!”

“Okay, true, but you can’t attack me because I _just_ gave birth. I’m weak and defenseless.”

“You’re ridiculous, that’s what you are.” Ryan shakes his head and starts throwing out their takeout containers. He also makes a note in his phone to find Ning’s interviews later.

Reese leans back on the couch and sighs happily. “I love our monthly Chaturgays.”

“You only love them now because you get to spend these afternoons dragging me and because your grandma has finally stopped yelling at you for not marrying me. Remember back when I used to be the one telling you to get over yourself and just propose to Nora already? And when your grandma said she was so happy you finally found a man who knew how to dress himself and if only you’d found me sooner, so you could teach me Cantonese sooner?”

“Those were dark times,” she says grimly. “I still maintain that if we had met in high school, we would’ve probably ended up dating because everyone thought we already were and then realized we were both gay because of that.”

“Oh yeah, definitely.” Ryan turns back to Reese, who’s now curled up on the couch. The hair on the right side of her head’s been growing out. “Want me to shave your head for you?”

“Yes, please. I keep forgetting to ask because by the time we see each other nowadays, we’re talking shop—”

“—or dragging me—”

“—and don’t you ever forget it! Ugh, not that I don’t love this baby to bits, but I can’t wait to be able to get out of this house. I miss seeing your Lesbian Haircut at work every day. And our surprise pizza parties.”

“They’re not surprises if you text me to go around asking everyone if they brought lunch today, Reese.”

“Well, how else would I do the ordering? Also, about your Lesbian Haircut—”

“Oh my god, shut _up._ What I don’t understand is how you can so brazenly drag yourself solely to drag _me_ —”

“Did I think you were a lesbian at first? Yes. But did you also think I was a gay dude when you first met me? Also yes. That’s infinitely more hilarious.”

“It was the same damn haircut, Reese. We had the same damn haircut.”

“Gay-lesbian solidarity. Remember how people thought you were my older brother when we first started the company?”

“Remember how after we told them we weren’t related that every new client we got either already knew we were both super gay _or_ thought we were a super trendy straight couple?”

Reese cackles as she grabs her haircutting supplies from the bathroom, peeking into her and Nora’s bedroom to check on their sleeping baby as she passes by. “There was definitely a generation gap there.”

He’s done shaving and trimming her hair in ten minutes. “Hey.”

“Yeah?” She looks up.

His face feels like it’s on fire, but he doesn’t look away. “I just wanted to say—I love you. Thanks for putting up with my shit and calling me out on it and just—everything. I know I don’t say it often, but I just wanted to make sure you knew. I’m just really glad I met you.”

Her smile is soft. “Love you, too. Thanks for giving me the kick in the butt to propose to Nora, even though you were only doing it because Nora was also proposing and needed your help getting me into the gazebo on our third anniversary.”

“You _literally_ had the ring and proposal plans in place for six months,” Ryan protests on auto-pilot. “Didn’t it end up being super cute and you both cried a lot?”

“I ruined my eyeliner, and it was the best it ever looked! I didn’t even get to take a selfie—”

Yeah. He loves their monthly Chaturgays, too.

—

“So.” Ryan is rinsing spinach leaves in his kitchen. “You didn’t tell me you co-directed _The_ _Same Wife._ ”

“It’s in credits, no?”

“Well, yeah, but it’s not like I could actually read them.” He puts the spinach on a plate and gives it to Ning, who transports it to the table. “I also heard from my parents and Reese that you demanded to be in this film and did everything you could to get the role. Why didn’t you tell me any of that?”

Ning shrugs. “At the time, we were not talking,” he points out. “Also, would it have made much of difference?”

“I mean, but we’re talking now.”

“You never asked.”

Ryan avoids Ning’s eyes. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“For what? Why are you always sorry now?” After Ning turns away, Ryan watches silently as Ning pours water into a pot, places it on top of the portable burner, and turns it on, admiring the way Ning carries himself with ease and confidence in his apartment, in his space. Ning turns to him, and like he seems to always be doing lately, Ryan flushes. “Why always sorry?”

“I just, well. Do you know why I changed my mind about working with you?”

“No. You never told me.”

“You never asked,” Ryan says, gratified when that elicits a smile from Ning.

Ning looks at his hands. “I thought better if I not push too much. Already good enough when you changed your mind.”

“I watched your movie at least twenty times before you came,” Ryan admits in a rush, not liking the way Ning just closed in on himself. His face is definitely on fire now, but he soldiers onward. “The first night, after I watched it with my parents during Lunar New Year, I watched it two more times after they went home. That week—hell, for the two weeks after that—I watched it every night. Even now, I still watch it once a week, twice if I can manage it.”

“Oh. Why?” Ning asks, voice practically a whisper. His smile is small, uncertain. He fiddles with a net ladle until Ryan takes it from him, Ryan’s hand lingering for a second before retreating. Ning looks up, and Ryan doesn’t look away.

“When I watched it the first time, it hit me so hard, and I wasn’t expecting that; I thought it was just going to show me what it’s like to grow up gay in China. Then I watched it again and again because it’s just… incredible. The dynamics between the characters, the build-up, your acting… I found myself relating to your character’s experience in a way I’ve never felt before, not even with American movies about gay people.” Ryan clears his throat when his voice starts to waver. “I just related so _much_ to all of it: the parental pressure to marry a woman and have kids, the shame of being different from all the other kids, the derision people have for you because they think being gay means you’re not a ‘real man’—I _felt_ that. In my chest. And it hurt.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s a good thing. It means you did a great job. And I just… I want you to know I’m really proud of you for working so hard on it, even though people have started speculating about why you’ve been so invested in it—yeah, I know about that—and you’ve probably been stressing out about that. You can talk to me about that kind of thing, if you want. I’m here for you.” Ryan fiddles with some mushrooms. “I’m really proud of you for realizing your dream of making stories you want to tell into movies and appreciate that you still want me along for the ride, even after all these years.” He looks away, heat creeping up his neck. “So yeah… that’s why I changed my mind.”

Ning looks at him, almost shy. “Of course I do. You being here is… part of my dream. Our promise.”

“Oh, I—” He’s blushing again. Doesn’t his face ever get tired of doing that? “That’s good.”

At least Ning is blushing, too. He clears his throat. “Anyway, you help me peel shrimp, or what?”

“Or what,” Ryan says immediately. “Why didn’t you buy them unpeeled?”

“Americans,” Ning mutters good-naturedly. “Here, I show you.”

“Shrimp is xiā, right?” Ryan then points to the plate holding thin slices of raw beef. “And that’s the niúròu…”

Ning’s look of surprise is lovely: a slightly open mouth, a light blush tinting his cheeks.

Ryan takes the shrimp from Ning’s fingers, and their hands brush against each other. He finishes peeling it and plops it into the now boiling water. “To be honest, I don’t really like shrimp unless it’s siumai, so you’re going to eat most of them, right?”

“If you eat all the pumpkin.” Ning wrinkles his nose. He looks so cute that Ryan wants to kiss him, which hasn't been a new feeling in a long time, but the surge of desire still hits him hard.

Ryan then dumps some more things into the pot: bok choy, two kinds of mushrooms, beef slices, a couple pieces of tofu, and a crab. “In the winter, when I was little, my family would do hot pot all the time. That’s how I learned food names in Cantonese. I can’t remember any of them now, of course, but I recognize the words once I hear them. Food’s basically the only thing I know the Cantonese for, but not the English.”

“And the Mandarin now?” Ning asks softly.

“I… may have had hot pot with my parents yesterday to study for this. Well, technically, we were all studying.”

“So this is why you were so insistent we have hot pot tonight. So you can show off.” Ning shakes his head and laughs, the low chuckle settling deep in Ryan’s belly.

“Oh, shut up. I don’t know Chinese, you have thoughts; I do know Chinese, you have even more thoughts. You’re never happy, are you,” Ryan sighs exaggeratedly. “Also, the hotpot is because something something about a door and a guest. See? I've been paying attention. Learning.”

“On the contrary. I have never been more happy in my life,” Ning says quietly, looking directly at him. Feeling brave, Ryan looks back.

They share a smile, and Ryan places the crab in Ning’s bowl.

—

After they finish eating and start cleaning up in the kitchen, Ryan looks at Ning warily. “Are you going to be the same way about my dishwasher like my dad?”

Ning rolls his eyes with a smile and grabs a sponge. Then he washes the bowl and passes it to Ryan.

Ryan sighs as he places it in the now de facto drying rack. “That’s a yes.”

—

As Ning finishes up the last of the dirty dishes, Ryan lays out the clothes he wants Ning to model on his couch. He resists wringing his hands, but only barely; Ning conspicuously never talks about the upcoming critic screening, which is how Ryan knows he’s anxious about it, and Ryan’s been spending pretty much every free moment he has tweaking his ideas so Ning will look perfect and stop worrying.

“Thanks,” Ning says, before taking off his shirt right then and there.

Ryan quickly turns around, studying his phone, until the mirror in front of him catches his eye. His gaze inadvertently trails up Ning’s chest and eventually meets the reflection of Ning’s eyes in the mirror before he realizes what he’s been looking at. Who. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to look.”

Ning is quiet behind him. All he does is meet Ryan’s gaze through the mirror, shirt only half-buttoned.

Ryan gulps and looks away, trying to get his breath back. “Let me know when you’re done changing. I’ll just go and… not be here.”

Ning adjusts his shirt. With a few steps forward, he gets so close that Ryan can feel the warmth radiating from him. Then he actually _feels_ it, the _heat,_ when Ning places his hands on Ryan’s hips from behind and his chest touches Ryan’s back. “Stay.”

Ryan feels Ning’s breath in his hair. He closes his eyes, forcing himself to turn away before Ning can get any closer to his right ear. “I… can’t do this. I shouldn’t.”

Ning lets him go. “I’m sorry.”

“I can’t,” Ryan repeats when he turns around to face him directly. “When you were talking about me coming to China, it was always just about what _I_ would do, not _we._ But silly me, I thought that was implied. I’d never gotten so caught up in someone like that before, and I made a lot of mistakes. I can’t put myself through that again. I’m sorry.”

“No, _I’m_ sorry. I shouldn’t assume you would want anything like before with me again.”

“Believe me, I _do_ want. It’s all I’ve been thinking about since Dex first told me you wanted to work with me again,” he confesses. He takes in the sight of Ning, shirt still half-unbuttoned, soft and inviting and all the more beautiful in the warm, intimate lighting of his living room. “I _really_ want. But I’m… afraid.”

“Of…? Not because I can’t guess, but I don’t want to assume again. Assuming makes ass out of you and me, right?”

Ryan takes a deep breath. “I have no guarantee that things won’t turn out like last time. That you won’t pressure me into denying that I am gay. I was never sure of how you felt about me last time—that magazine said you _looked_ like you were in love, but I never asked; I just assumed— _hoped_ —you felt the same. I’m not telling you to value me over your career, but I fell so hard and so quickly for you, and you were the last man I ever expected to fall for. Like, all we had was that one night together, and I was seriously thinking about moving to Beijing to be with you, when you, you know.” Ryan laughs weakly, gesturing uselessly. “You had already given up on us by then.”

Ning’s eyes are on him. When he opens his mouth, Ryan puts up a hand to stop him. Ning nods and falls silent again.

Ryan looks away, somewhere past Ning’s shoulder, and swallows hard. “You wanted me to deny our… whatever it was back then, okay, fine. But then you wanted me to do it by telling everyone I was straight, not gay. Not okay. I don’t trust that you won’t ask that of me again. Please understand—I know you’re not the same exact person you were seven years ago, but it’s hard for me to stop being scared.” His voice cracks. “It took me so long to be okay again after you left, and I don’t know if I can do it a second time. To be honest, I don’t even know how I’m going to deal when you leave again, with us being… whatever we are now. Even if nothing comes of it. I just know I’ll miss you.” Softly, he adds, “I always do.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see something change in Ning’s expression, but he still can’t bring himself to look at him directly. He takes a step back, away from the tempting heat of Ning’s body, and shifts his gaze to the floor.

Ning doesn’t move, taking only a moment to respond. “Ryan, you must know… leaving you then or now… is never easy. I don’t look forward to it, either.” Quietly, gently, he continues, “You don’t have to believe me because I know what sounds like for me say things different now. But they are. I want only you as stylist because like you already know, this movie so important to me, and also important to me you involved, too. But also, I want to… at the very least, I want to see you again, so I can apologize to you and make things right between us.”

“Yes. I believe you want to.” Ryan sighs. “I don’t want to be scared, okay? But I am.”

“Is okay. I am in New York for a while, so there is time. Just to talk. As friends. Anything you want. I don’t want anything you don’t want to give me. I just really want you to know I’m sorry.” Ning yawns, covering his mouth with his hand. “For the clothes, I like everything you’ve shown me so far. I go home now, okay? Is late, both need space, talk later.”

“Okay. Yeah. Okay.”

Ning shrugs himself out of the shirt, gets back into his own. “Just, one thing.”

Ryan wraps his arms around himself as he watches Ning smooth down his T-shirt. “Yeah?”

“I regret many things that happened when I was here last time. But I do not regret the night we spend together, the moments we shared, or meeting you in the first place,” Ning says hoarsely, looking at him intently. He folds the shirt he was trying on and puts it on the couch before giving Ryan a wistful smile. “That night, I… enjoyed myself, to say the least. And whenever we were together before… before the bad, any of those times are my favorite memories of my first time in America because I enjoy being with you. Even when you refuse to eat very good crab the first time we met and not know the meaning of péngyǒu (朋友) and wanted to make me wear Western clothes,” he teases, earning a small smile from Ryan in return. Ning’s smile grows shy, honest. Vulnerable. “I don’t regret you, Ryan. I… I hope you don’t regret me.” He gives the folded shirt one more pat. “I see you tomorrow, okay?”

Out of impulse, Ryan reaches out and hugs him tightly. Ning’s arms wrap around him, and _oh,_ he’s _missed_ this. He had been too… dazzled, for lack of a better word, when Ning held him while they danced in his office, but as he breathes in Ning’s scent now, he’s devastatingly, vividly reminded of the last time they held each other, when Ryan had pathetically asked one more time if Ning was going to ask him to go to Beijing with him, despite knowing the score. When Ning had given him a wry smile and left for Beijing by himself.

His eyes dampen unexpectedly at the memory. When he finally speaks, it’s in a whisper. “I… just be patient with me, okay? Good night.”

“Don’t worry, okay? It’s okay. Everything is okay.” Ning gives him one more squeeze and lets him go. “Good night, Ryan.”

—

“Screw his brains out. Move in with him at his swanky hotel. Put a ring on it. Don’t let him and those abs get away ever again.” Janet turns around, and Ryan helps her clasp the necklace her fiancé gave her two months ago around her neck.

“He made me friendzone him in public. I said we were brothers. _Brothers,_ Janet _.”_

Janet checks her makeup again and raises her perfectly waxed eyebrows at him. Perfectly waxed, for the express purpose of looking profoundly judgey. “It’s 2022—who even says _friendzone_ anymore, ironically or otherwise?”

“Hey, focus.”

“Look.” She sighs and sprays a rose-scented mist all over her face. “I vividly remember that week you spent at our apartment eating all our food and letting Lakey stay up way past her bedtime and listening to Adele. _Adele,_ Ryan.”

“He wasn’t good enough for anyone else!”

“We agreed that in our apartment we wouldn’t subject my ears or Lakey’s to Adele, remember? That was literally the first rule!” Janet sits down next to him on the couch. “Anyway, I remember how heartbroken you were. I remember how hard it was for you to pick yourself back up. But you did it! It took you years, but you did it! What’s more, I remember how happy you were with him and how you actually connected with somebody for once and how you let yourself fall in love with him with no shame at all, despite your whole mayo phase back then. You’re both older now. More experienced, more mature. You both have more control over your careers and futures than before. Is it actually that hard to believe he’s actually changed?”

“He’s a man, Janet. We don’t change.”

“Maybe he didn’t change, then,” she counters. “Maybe he just wasn’t sure before. Maybe he was scared and didn’t know what to do, so he picked what he knew would bring him back to what he was comfortable with the fastest. But you can’t say for sure what it was if you don’t put yourself back out there and talk to him. If he winds up being an asshole again, you can always blacklist him and drive yourself into the ground working eighteen-hour days. Oh, _wait,_ you’re doing that already.”

“Why am I friends with you and Reese and Nora, when all you guys literally do is drag me every chance you get?” Ryan buries his face in his hands. “I can’t help that I’m scared to try again.”

“I mean, it sounds like he’s really trying—he wouldn’t consider anyone else to be his stylist, is cooking for and feeding you, went with you to visit your grandma… sounds like he’s serious about courting you.”

“ _Or,_ he’s just being Chinese. Maybe he just doesn’t want me to quit the job.” Ryan makes a face. “Mom’s always telling me to ‘maintain harmonious relationships.’ Mostly because I kept telling one of my aunts smoking a pack a day was worse than me being fat when I was ten, but still.”

Janet takes his hands in hers. “Come on, be honest. Do you regret what happened between you two seven years ago?”

“He kept saying I was abnormal! He accused me of outing him to that magazine! He basically told me there was no hope for us because he needed to carry on the family name! Then, after all that, I _still_ very pathetically kept asking him if he still wanted me to go to China with him!”

“You’re avoiding the question. Do you regret it? Do you regret _him?_ ”

“No,” he admits softly. He pulls away from Janet and hides his face in his hands again. “If I hadn’t met him, I don’t think I would’ve changed how I thought about my identity as much when Mama died, which was why I ended up starting a company that prioritizes Asians in media with one of my now closest friends.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“You never would’ve started going out to taste the rainbow. And by _taste,_ I mean _get dicked down by._ ”

“How are _you_ criticizing me for saying _friendzone_ when you say shit like this?”

“Because I don’t take constructive criticism, duh.”

“Oh my _god,_ you’re ridiculous. But for real, doesn’t that make me pathetic? I really _was_ about to upend my entire life to go with him when he broke my heart. And now I want to go back to him? After all he did?”

“Nobody’s saying forget everything he did back then. But he’s making all this effort to have you back in his life, wants you to know how important you are to him, and is eager to learn from his past mistakes—doesn’t that count for something?”

“So you’re saying I should let him in?”

“I’m saying _you’re_ saying you should let him in. It shows all over your face.” She checks her phone. “I gotta go, okay? _Leah on the Offbeat_ just ended, and Lakey’s friend’s mom is driving her home, so she should be back soon.” She grimaces. “Ugh. Parent-teacher conferences make me so nervous.”

“Lakey’s at the top of her class, Damien’s going to be there with you, and you look beautiful. _Also,_ Lakey’s in high school now, so you don’t have to see that awful science teacher anymore.”

“Fuck Sewell,” she says vehemently. “But… what if these teachers don’t like me? This is my first time meeting them. I should’ve tried harder to enroll Lakey into that K-12 school. The teachers there were all so nice!”

“It was too expensive, even for a private school. Besides, Francesca’s kid is there. Would you have really wanted to deal with more phone calls than you already do about schools and standardized tests and all that crap?”

“I will never get used to that.” Janet shakes her head. “She used to be my boss. It’s so weird.”

“Now _I’m_ your boss, and she’s the one always calling you freaking out about parenting. Feel old yet?”

“Shut up.”

“You could almost say that the tables have turned. Or rather, that the tables are turning.” When Janet just looks at him, he rolls his eyes. “Get it? Come on, like _Turning Tables._ ”

“Oh, I got it. I just didn’t want you to feel proud of yourself for it.”

“Too late.” He grows serious. “Relax. You have a good man by your side.”

“Don’t forget; you do, too. Possibly plus-one material, even.”

He shakes his head. “Come on, you know it isn’t like that.”

“Do I? Do _you?_ ” She gives him a quick hug before heading for the door. “Think about it, okay? I really have to go now, but thanks so much, babe. I have some stuff in the fridge for curry; just don’t forget to—”

“—hide the peas in the potatoes? I remember. Her braces have been hurting a lot recently, so I’ll cook everything a little longer. Not my first rodeo.”

“Just making sure,” she says, putting on her shoes.

“Sure, Jan.” He leans back on the couch, arms behind his head. “I know more about Lakey than you do now. How the _tables have turned._ ”

“Ignoring that,” she calls behind her. "Be back after midnight!" She punctuates it with a slam of the door.

After she leaves, Ryan finds himself fiddling with his phone, thumb hovering over a picture he took of Ning covered in butterflies, who’s looking at ~~him~~ the camera with shy, hopeful eyes. Lakey comes back before he makes any kind of decision, though, and he gratefully distracts himself listening to her talk about what she and her friends did to cope with the tall couple making out in front of them at the movie theater.

—

The Chinese restaurant is loud, but when is it not? Dimsum carts make their way through the maze of tables with practiced ease, but the rest of the scene is chaotic: little kids running around and kicking Ryan’s chair, his parents only hearing half of what he’s saying, waiters forgetting Mom’s request for a pair of communal chopsticks because other people keep interjecting with their own.

It still surprises him sometimes that the chaos no longer grates on his nerves. He’d spent his childhood in places like these, vowing to never step into another of his own accord as soon as he was old enough to choose the places he wanted to frequent. How the Lazy Susan has turned.

Ryan lets out a sigh of relief as his parents and Ning update one another on what’s happened the past seven years while scanning the room for what the dimsum carts have to offer; Ning and his parents seeing each other again after so long hasn’t been as awkward as he’d expected. In fact, before they entered the restaurant, as Dad shook Ning’s hand and told him they’d followed his movie career over the years, Mom had hugged him and patted the stubble on his face and laughed as Ning stooped slightly for her to examine him better. As they sat down, Mom and Dad across from him and Ning, Ryan had pointed at Ning’s stubble and mouthed, _I told you so,_ and Ning had rolled his eyes.

Ning pours everyone tea. “Thank you for coming. I have been in New York for almost two weeks and too busy to see you until now, but I want to thank you for convincing Ryan to work with me again.”

“Of course, so happy you see us when so busy!” Mom then stares at them, making Ryan squirm in his seat. “But first, you together again?”

Ryan and Ning exchange a look. They’re both blushing, so Ryan isn’t putting that down as a loss (though he honestly has no hope of catching up; the score’s something like Feelings: 519, Face: 0).

“See, I was right,” Dad says knowingly, a gleam in his eye. “Lifetime to cool down.”

“We’re not… We’re just friends. But… well. Uh.” Ryan turns to Ning, who is unhelpfully doing nothing except blushing. “Um.”

Thankfully, rescue comes in the form of a waiter pushing a dimsum cart. They grab plates of siumai, shrimp cheong fun, and durian puffs, only picking up the conversation three carts later.

“Ning, thank you for going with Ryan to see his Mama and Yehyeh. We worry he not find them and pay proper respect.” Mom heaps more cheong fun on Ning’s plate, despite Ning insisting he can manage. “No talk, eat, eat! Not many chance eat good Chinese food here, so eat more!”

“Hey, I remember where they are! Even if I didn’t, I could still find them because I’d just have to look for their portraits. Also, I wrote down your directions to make sure I got everything right.”

“Is true, he found Mama and Yehyeh all on his own.” Ning gives him a shy smile. “He is so much better at Chinese now. I’m so proud of him.”

Ryan rolls his eyes but smiles back.

Ning refills everyone’s teacups, and they each tap two fingers on the table. As Ning finishes pouring Ryan’s tea, he says, “There’s only one more shāomài left. You want it? Your favorite, no?”

“It’s okay, if anyone else wants—”

“No, no, take it,” Dad orders Ryan. “So proud of you. Five years boss of own company, eat and learn more Chinese, you deserve.”

“Oh! Uh, thanks, Dad.” Ryan takes a sip of tea, and the lump in his throat dissipates, though his blush doesn’t.

“Let me,” Ning offers, when Ryan starts reaching for the last siumai. Their table doesn’t have a Lazy Susan because it’s too small, and he wouldn’t be able to get it without getting soy sauce on his shirt anyway, so he nods to Ning and leans his back against his chair again. As Ning picks it up with his chopsticks, Ryan’s blush intensifies; both of his parents are watching them like hawks.

“You in America so long this time, must miss Chinese food,” Dad says, still watching.

“Yes,” Ning agrees, placing the siumai on Ryan’s plate, “but I miss other things more.” His eyes flit to Ryan’s.

Mom sees it, of course. She frowns disapprovingly at Ryan. “Ning so good to you, why you break up?”

They both look away, and Ryan sighs. “Come on, Mom—”

“I was a fool, that’s why.”

“Hey, we’ve been over this. We were both at fault.”

“Why not together now?” Dad presses. “Ning back, both single—”

A waiter soon comes by, and Ning takes the chance to distract Dad with a tussle for the check. Ryan never thought he’d ever see the day the younger person actually won the privilege of paying the bill, and he makes a note to ask Ning later for tips.

Ryan thinks that’s the end of it, but as they’re gathering up their things, Ning says to Dad, “We take slow. Lifetime to cool down, right?” He holds the door open for everyone. “Plenty of time.”

“I like him, Ryan. He’s good man. Don’t let get away again, okay?” Dad places his hand on Ryan’s shoulder when they get outside, nodding approvingly. Out of the corner of his eye, Ryan can see the tips of Ning’s ears turn pink. Ning is chatting with Mom a few feet away; there’s no way he didn’t hear that.

Dad? Proud of him? Approves of his—of Ning? What is he _feeling?_ And whatever it is, can it not involve so much blushing? “Uh, noted.”

“And you will come, right? To the screening,” Ning asks.

“Yes, yes, of course. Thank you for invite, so exciting,” Mom exclaims, which is when a strong gust blows past them, making Ryan shiver. “Why no dress warm?”

“Because I look good in this jacket, duh,” Ryan says. “It’s almost June; why the hell is it still so chilly?”

“Not real summer yet.” Ning shakes his head. “Is looking good really worth getting sick?”

Ryan rolls his eyes, smiling. “Obviously.”

Ning ducks his head, giving him that shy smile again. Then, almost too quickly for him to process, he warns, “Don’t bite,” takes a scarf from his pocket, and wraps it around Ryan’s neck. “There. Still handsome, but now warmer.”

And what do you know, he’s blushing again. Feelings: 520, Face: 0.

—

Ryan feels Janet studying him as he looks through Annie’s pictures of Ning. Ning gets along with Annie a lot better than he did with Gus, and it shows; Annie somehow got Ning to pose languidly across a bench with some doves, looking like some kind of post-coital cuddling god, and the final pictures are sexier than the angry ones Gus got from him seven years ago.

Or maybe he’s just biased as all hell.

“You look different,” Janet observes after several minutes of Ryan ~~drooling over~~ studying the photos. “You no longer have that beautiful, haunting, melancholic aura going on around you.”

Ryan rolls his eyes. “I look the same as always because Asians don’t raisin.”

“Please.”

“Good skincare routine.”

“No, you’re glowing, you dick. I know the difference.”

He sighs. “Okay, fine. I’m looking forward to Ning’s critic screening thing tonight because my parents and I will get to see _The Same Wife_ on the big screen for the first time. And my parents told us to come over to their apartment yesterday in what we’re wearing for tonight and insisted on taking pictures of us like we were going to prom. I think they’re trying to make Ning take as many pictures with me as possible, so they can swap out all my exes’ photos with Ning’s. Not that they had _that_ many pictures of me and my boyfriends around their place before, but now they’re _really_ excited about it. Also, after the screening, we’re going back to my apartment to celebrate the movie’s success with champagne and ice cream.”

Janet raises her eyebrows.

“…despite everything I just said, it’s not a date. Ning was very clear that tonight doesn’t have to mean anything. He just thought my parents would be proud to see what I get to see and do in this line of work, especially since it’s a big Chinese movie.”

“He thinks the world of you,” she says quietly.

“I know, I know! I just need time. You remember how bad it got. Before.”

“Yeah, yeah. Better snatch him up soon, though. You don’t want him thinking dating’s completely off the table now. You’re missing out on _so_ many good dickings.”

He finally turns to face her and point a finger at her shit-eating grin. “You are banned from talking, understand? No more, because I no longer trust the words coming out of your mouth.”

She mouths _dickings_ again and ducks when he throws a cushion at her, cackling all the while.

—

“Did you see that picture in the paper someone took of you giving Ryan your scarf?” James asks, voice high and stressed. Somewhere in the background, Ryan messes with his hair, and Ning takes this moment to admire the cut of Ryan’s soft pink suit. “You here yet?”

“Just arrived. I will play by ear. Thank you for telling me.”

“Can you tell me what you’re planning to say? Because you know they’re going to ask. Just so—”

“Play by ear,” Ning repeats. He hangs up.

“Who was that?” Ryan adjusts his shirt, then combs through his hair with his fingers one more time. He frowns. “My hair literally gets only five minutes of volume and then goes limp.”

“No one important.” Ning swallows, eyes all over Ryan. “You look very good. I do not only say because I am biased.”

“Yeah? Kids at school used to beat me up for liking pink, but who’s the one going to a fancy movie thing with the hottest actor in China now? Fuck those fuckers.”

Ning stands in front of him, a mere three inches away. “Who, indeed,” he says very softly, as he adjusts Ryan’s suit jacket, brushing the lapels for lint. Neither moves for a whole minute, until Ning pats him on the shoulder, hand drifting down until he’s firmly touching the small of Ryan’s back to guide him into the theater. “Come on, we will be late.”

—

Ryan has to stop after taking a step into the cushy theater as he takes in the opulence of the room—the walls are a lush forest green with intimidating gold accents, made only slightly less intimidating due to the warm, intimate lighting, actual marble columns stand on each side of the big screen, and exquisitely carved landscapes take up most of the ceiling. Rows upon rows of seats are already occupied, with still more snazzily dressed people coming in.

He tries to take a steadying breath, but the air inside the theater is stagnant, like it’s managed to evade the passing of time, so he only succeeds in making himself even _more_ nervous. He’s painfully aware of how his dress shoes seem to sink into the soft carpet, how his suit shifts with his every movement, how the warmth of Ning’s hand on his back spreads across his body.

Even with Ning by his side, he’s still nervous about how fancy everything is. Yes, he’s been in the glamorous fashion world for about a decade now, but he still feels like an imposter sometimes—he grew up poor with immigrant parents who didn’t know anything about networking or interview etiquette or whatever, had and still has to learn everything on his own so that no one realizes he doesn’t actually belong here.

A guiding nudge from Ning makes Ryan realize he’s blocking the doorway, so Ryan takes a deep breath and makes his way to the first row of reserved seats, weaving through several sharply dressed people. He recognizes some film critics, members of New York City’s Chinese elite, and spokespeople from various LGBT nonprofit organizations.

Never before have all these people he’s met in his line of work been _together_ in the same room, and it hits him right then, more acutely than ever, just how much attention _The Same Wife_ has garnered from the world, how much love and effort people have put into making _The Same Wife_ happen, how much he’d _needed_ to see people come together for stories like these about people with similar struggles, fears, experiences—and say definitively: These people are important. They matter. They deserve to love and be loved in return, to _exist_ as they are.

Overcome with the realization, Ryan dazedly lets Ning continue steering him to their seats. A few people stop Ning as he passes by to shake his hand and talk about the movie, and Ning has to regrettably slide his hand off of Ryan’s back, but their shoulders stay touching through all the introductions and pleasantries, which is just as good. Some people even recognize Ryan’s work from a recent issue of _GAYSIAN AMERICA,_ which is even better.

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches James subtly yawning, which is the only sign of his jet lag after flying in from Beijing a few hours ago, while still coordinating press junkets in Asia for Ning’s co-stars. James then comes over and gently steers someone away with a reminder that Ning will answer questions after the movie, and Ryan uses that opening to go to his seat next to Mom. Dad sits on Mom’s other side, while Reese and Nora are on Dad’s right.

In comparison to Reese’s midnight blue tux and galaxy-print bow-tie and Nora’s long, flowing rose gold gown, Mom and Dad look underdressed in the nicest things they own, which were also what they wore to Mama’s funeral.

And Ryan’s college graduation. And high school graduation.

A pang of… not shame, but _something,_ hits him when he looks at Mom and Dad in their ironed but visibly worn formal attire, the scuffed shoes they’ve had for many years that they only bring out from the shoeboxes high up in their closet for occasions like these. The lighting is too dim for anyone to tell, but Ryan knows Mom’s black dress is held together entirely by all the stitching she’s had to do over the years. The sleeves of Dad’s cream white shirt are short on him.

Before, he was always so embarrassed—why couldn’t his parents look _nice_ on such a big day? Why couldn’t they look like _normal?_ Why couldn’t they hide the fact that they were poor immigrants working the most menial—the most _humiliating_ —of jobs, when everyone had already dismissed Ryan as a loser, as an outsider, as _nothing,_ just for being Asian? But it’s different this time.

Mom wrings her hands as she looks around, smiling nervously when she sees someone from the local Cantonese news channel she and Dad watch during dinner every night, while Dad steadfastly studies the press kit given by an usher at the front door. It suddenly occurs to Ryan that his parents are as uncomfortable here as he is, surrounded by such prominent people. At least he’s shaken hands with some of them at fancy charity galas he’s often had to attend as part of his job—Mom and Dad have never been to an event of this caliber.

Not shame, but _guilt._ How many times have they told him they can’t afford new clothes, and certainly not things they wear once every two years, at most? He wishes he’d been able to convince them to let him buy them clothes; after all they’ve done for him, it’s the least he can do, but they just keep telling him to save the money for when their grandchildren go to college, which. Isn’t subtle at all, but. He thinks back to when Ning managed to make Dad let him pay the bill—he definitely needs to ask Ning for tips.

Ryan takes one of Mom’s hands in his and runs his thumb across the back of her hand, before drawing a smiley face across her skin. They share a smile, and Mom relaxes a little.

He then waves to Reese and Nora. “Hey,” Ryan calls out to them. “Thanks for driving my parents here.”

“Of course! They’re on our way.” Nora whistles, looking around the theater. “This place is fancy, huh?”

Ryan nods and exhales. “Tell me about it.”

Reese whacks Nora’s arm lightly, though her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes; she still looks a little guilty about breaking tradition and leaving the house within the first month of giving birth, but she hadn’t wanted to miss this. Judging from Nora’s weary smile, she’s been trying to cheer Reese up all day. “There you go again, taking all the credit when _I_ was driving.”

“Only because you don’t let me drive, darling wife.”

“You don’t know how to drive; you only _believe_ you do,” Reese retorts, before turning to Ryan, who makes a mental note to fill their office’s fridge with hazelnut soy milk. “We’re also taking your parents home, right?”

“Don’t have to,” Dad protests, the routine as old as time. “We go home by self.”

“Yeah,” Ryan says to Reese. “Thanks again.”

“Thank you,” Mom sighs, elbowing Dad. After half a second, he thanks Reese, too.

Reese then whispers something in Dad’s ear, who chuckles and leans back against his seat, his posture no longer as rigid as before. Ryan then shifts his focus to the film synopsis in his own press kit, despite knowing every line said, every look given, and every breath taken in the movie, down to the very minute:

> **Fall in love with a nice girl. Propose to her. Carry on the family name by starting a family of your own. A dutiful Chinese son, Liu Anhai (刘安海) has checked off everything on this list to make his parents happy, albeit perfunctorily: sleeping alongside his wife Li Xiuying (李秀英), who hides her own pain running their household by spending every free moment she has at the café owned by her best friend Zhang Lijing (张丽静); waking up too early to find their five-year-old son in their bed once again, because he’s hoping his parents will take him to the park instead of school; working a grueling factory job that provides little pay but at least offers him a temporary reprieve from his suffocating domestic life.**
> 
> **Through it all, Xiuying remains by his side, going through the motions of life as is asked of her, despite their rocky marriage being a constant topic of gossip (and mockery) for everyone else.**
> 
> **Just like him.**
> 
> **But… this can’t be all there is to life, can it? To marriage?**
> 
> **To love?**
> 
> **Anhai’s life changes when he spots a new street musician playing the erhu a few streets from the factory. Wang Lei (王磊) has been a musician his entire life, but he was cast out of his job and home after his wife discovered his affair with another man. Anhai and Lei form a connection initially built on quick but reciprocated glances that ease the strained tensions at home by increasing the distance between Anhai and Xiuying.**
> 
> **That’s just a stopgap, though. Not a solution. Things come to a head when Anhai and Lei’s romance is discovered by Anhai’s father. As Anhai and Xiuying grapple with issues of infidelity, shame, and sexuality, Anhai knows that he will never look at his wife the same way again.**

Ning finally makes his way to his seat next to Ryan after a minutes-long whispered exchange with James, his quiet sigh as he sits down drawing Ryan’s attention away from the synopsis.

“Hey.” Ryan gives him a smile. “What were you guys talking about? You were gone for a while.”

“Nothing.” Ning taps his fingers on the armrest. His shoulders are hunched over, and he’s tenser than a coiled spring. “Just nervous about… after the movie. What questions they will ask.”

“You’ll do great. Seriously.” Ryan squeezes Ning’s arm, though what he really wants to do is cover Ning’s hand with his. Ning relaxes fractionally. “You’ve been promoting this movie for so long that I bet you could answer all those questions in your sleep. Just think of it as a regular old interview, okay? Something you’ve done dozens of times, if not hundreds.”

“Just with many more important people watching,” Ning says wryly.

Ryan giggles despite himself. “Not helping, Ning.” Suddenly realizing he’s still touching Ning, he self-consciously takes his hand back. “Hey. I’m proud of you, okay? I’m just one person, but I never expected to see a movie like _The Same Wife_ get this kind of attention in my lifetime, and the fact that I get to see a movie like this, a protagonist I can relate to, played by someone—” _who promised to turn these kinds of stories into movies, who made that promise as part of a bigger one about our future together, who left after making that promise and then **came back** _ “—I respect and admire greatly, a role model, someone I can look up to—almost—is just… _amazing._ I am honestly _so_ proud of you right now.”

“Almost?” Ning asks, smiling shyly.

“I _am_ taller,” Ryan teases, and Ning snorts.

Ning wraps his fingers around Ryan’s wrist, squeezes, and places his hand back in his lap. “Thank you.”

They exchange another look, and Ryan feels like they’re at the edge of something, like he’s made some kind of decision, which doesn’t scare him as much as expected. As he mulls it over, James walks up to the podium, adjusts the microphone, and starts thanking everyone for coming, though Ryan doesn’t hear any of it, zoning right out to James’ soothing voice.

Next thing he knows, the room is dark, and he’s seeing Ning’s face on the big screen, Ning’s handsomeness magnified several times over taking his breath away almost immediately.

Yeah. He’s a goner.

Even though he’s seen it dozens of times by now, watching _The_ _Same Wife_ on a huge screen in a room with a bunch of important people—important people from so many different communities—and _Ning right next to him_ is a completely different experience from watching it alone in his bed, heartbroken and lonely. Beside him, Ning takes a deep breath and leans back, though his whole body’s still stiff, discomfort radiating off him in waves.

Before Ryan can overthink it, he puts his arm on the armrest between them, holding out his hand. Ning takes it without looking, but Ryan sneaks a glance at him anyway, heartbeat quickening at the sight of his small smile.

Ryan lets the familiarity of the movie wash over him, still feeling a pang in his chest upon rewatching the flashbacks interspersed throughout the movie: of Anhai’s friends teasing him about always being single, his parents pestering him about getting married and having a child to carry on the family name, Anhai turning away in embarrassment and shame the one time he and a girl fall into bed together during his teenage years. Anhai’s flashbacks evoke memories of the confusion and hurt he had experienced in his own journey of self-discovery, while also making him wonder how he would have turned out had his parents never immigrated.

The scene shifts to a shot of an alley, and Ryan closes his eyes, forcing himself to take deep breaths. Behind him, he hears a synchronized gasp, and he wishes it was louder because he can still hear Anhai getting beaten up by his own father and his friends. Even with his eyes closed, the image of Ning’s face covered in blood, of Anhai having completely given up, is still starkly vivid in his mind. He supposes it’s a small mercy that he can’t understand what Anhai’s father shouts at him before calling off his friends and leaving; in all of his rewatches, he’s never been able to bring himself to stay for the whole scene and read the subtitles. Ning squeezes his hand in the dark, and Ryan clings onto it like a lifeline.

Ryan doesn’t breathe at all when Anhai and Xiuying fight after Anhai comes home, immediately following the beating—when she accuses him of not noticing her, even though she’s been unfaithful. Anhai stays silent when she asks why his father would do such a thing, the silence of the scene mirrored by the one ringing through the whole theater.

With bated breath, Ryan watches as Xiuying stands up from where she’s been helping Anhai clean his injuries, and the camera zooms in on her determined expression and the tears in her eyes. Ryan leans in because this—this moment _,_ when Xiuying is confessing that she’s still in love with her best friend Lijing from middle school, that she’s never felt like she was Anhai’s wife, but Lijing’s, is where Xiuying truly shines as a character.

The camera shifts to Anhai’s expression—to his horror on Ning’s face—as he and the now murmuring audience realize that Lijing owns the café Anhai proposed to Xiuying in on their first date, a meeting only arranged because they were both considered undesirably ancient for marriage by Chinese societal norms but desperate to please their increasingly pressuring parents.

She says her wife’s name again and collapses to the floor on her knees next to her husband, who’s still breathing shallowly from the assault. As she cries for the life she never got to have and about the life she does, the whole theater is quiet again. Ryan’s eyes dampen in sympathy, and he knows he’s not the only one.

When it’s Anhai’s turn to confess he’s never felt like she was his wife, either, Ryan turns his palm face-up, briefly detaching it from Ning’s. His palm is empty only for a second before Ning clasps his hand to his once more, Ning’s thumb rubbing slowly across his skin over and over again.

On the screen, Xiuying’s mouth opens wide as Anhai explains, and for a charged moment, they look at each other with new familiarity: like seeing like, like _recognizing_ like. Then, the look turns into panic—what are they going to do now?

Ryan then leans back, daring to rest his head on Ning’s shoulder, and Ning shifts closer for his comfort; this is his favorite part. Anhai and Xiuying stay together on paper but go home to their real partners, his real husband and her real wife, respectively. On his way home from buying mooncake for Mid-Autumn Festival, Anhai overhears his neighbors gossiping about him and his family again, but it stops stinging as much when he realizes something.

 _His wife_ doesn’t hurt so much to hear anymore because _his wife_ is also _**her** wife._ When it hits him, Anhai’s— _Ning’s_ —face breaks out in a smile, and it’s no less beautiful than the first time Ryan watched it.

As Anhai gives Lei a quick kiss in front of his son when he comes home—the first time he’s ever shown Lei affection in front of someone else, Ryan’s face curves into a smile, and the whole room bursts in applause. With that, the movie ends, and the credits start rolling. He lifts his head to find Ning smiling back and presses their joined hands to his chest, where his heartbeat has sped up, as if his heart’s trying to jump out of his chest and into their clasped hands. Into Ning’s, for safekeeping.

Right before the lights come on, Ryan quickly separates himself from Ning, looking around nervously, but it doesn’t seem like anyone’s noticed. The audience hasn’t stopped clapping since Anhai and Lei’s kiss. In fact, the applause has only gotten more thunderous, and when he and Ning turn around, he sees everyone standing. In addition to clapping, some people are cheering, whistling, and even whooping when Ning stands to face them and claps along, himself beaming.

Ning then leaves his seat for the podium, which is five quick strides away. James joins him off to the side. After the applause stops, Ning says into the microphone, “Thank you so much to China Film Society for organizing this event, and thank you everyone for coming! For so long, our team has wanted to tell this story, and now we get to show the world! We hope after you watch this, you will have a better idea of what life is like for LGBT people in China, why we need to tell these stories, how much work still needs to be done to make sure our LGBT Chinese siblings have protections that let them live as they are: have and keep their jobs, get married, raise families.” Ning takes a deep breath. “I now take questions.”

Someone Ryan recognizes from an LGBT rights organization raises her hand. “Would you say _The Same Wife_ endorses these so-called ‘cooperative marriages’?”

Ning hums thoughtfully. “I would only say _The Same Wife_ shows what life looks like for one ‘cooperative marriage.’ I know some people say is a good solution for gay men and lesbians to appease their parents and still be happy with who they love, and I know others who say these marriages make the fight for marriage equality harder because some will ask why China needs, if LGBT people can just participate in these kinds of marriages.” His face softens. “I… I see both sides; I empathize with both, and while others are free to interpret this movie how they wish, our intent with making it was to show the situation is not… ideal, to say the least.”

“Yes?” James calls on someone in the third row. A film critic, Ryan thinks.

“You said in past interviews that you fought for months to get this role. Why was it so important for you to be involved in this movie?”

“I became an actor because I love to tell stories. Even before I knew what an actor was, I knew I wanted to tell stories from people who don’t get chance to, from people who are silenced. I knew if I could get opportunity and others cannot, I would prioritize those stories because not everyone as lucky as I am. When I first heard my co-director wanted to make this movie, I immediately call her up because,” Ning pauses because his voice has started to get a little wobbly, “in all my years acting, I have met so many people who must hide to keep their jobs, to keep doing what they love, even though they don’t get big roles or good pay. They just love acting, even though is such an unpredictable job; you never know when you get work next. I know they all would love to do a role like this one, but they cannot risk losing their jobs, their loved ones, if they do this movie. So I do this movie for them and all LGBT people because they deserve to see themselves and stories on the big screen.”

After some quiet applause, James nods at someone toward the back of the room. “Yes, the gentleman in the back?”

“This isn’t really a question,” the gentleman says, “but I just wanted to say I’m really impressed with how persistent you were in making sure you got this role and how much energy you put into it. Calling your co-director every other day, auditioning three times, off-book by the second day, wow!”

“Once I know what I want, I go after it,” Ning agrees, smiling ruefully with a quick glance at Ryan that steals his breath away, and the audience laughs.

James then picks on someone Ryan recognizes as a prominent Chinese American playwright he remembers meeting at a concert benefiting a local Chinatown organization. “Mr. Qi, you always bring such heartfelt, empathetic authenticity to every character you play, and your role as Liu Anhai was no different. What was the biggest challenge you faced in taking on this role?”

“Maybe coping with the pressure of it. Not many gay characters in Chinese movies, and I want to make sure I portray it respectfully because many people do not understand gay people. I was very anxious about being a harmful stereotype because I want to portray Anhai as the complex character he is. I want to show his struggles, yes, but his joys as well.” Ning pauses, before correcting himself. “I should say portray respectfully and _sincerely_ because the three auditions I do, is because director not happy with the first two. Said I was too reserved for the role, told me I had mental block that keeps me from accessing the honesty, empathy, _vulnerability_ needed for this role. So I reflect, make myself think about past struggles critically, use that to make Anhai’s character more sincere, more real.”

“So his sexuality wasn’t part of the challenge? This was your first role as a gay man, after all.”

Ning reaches for a bottle of water behind the podium and takes a sip. His smile is sad. “Yes, my… first. Sexuality was only challenging because I wanted to make sure I was respectful, as I said. I know gay Chinese actors who play straight people in movies and real life—how can I say playing gay character is a challenge, when what they do every day is by far the real challenge?”

Then, James calls on someone in the center of the theater, whose hand has been raised the entire time. Mom will tell Ryan later that he’s a reporter for a local Cantonese-English news channel, but for now, Ryan only notices that he looks young and that his mouth is set in a thin, firm line. “You first met stylist Ryan Fu seven years ago, after you just finished filming _Springtime in Nanking._ Now you are back in New York, and it seems like you two are always seen together. In fact, he’s here tonight, isn’t he?”

Ning smiles, tensely this time. Ryan doesn’t like it. “Yes, because we are working together again. We are… friends.”

Is he just imagining the dull look in Ning’s eyes right when Ning says that?

“A picture of you giving Mr. Fu your scarf recently surfaced, leading to speculation that you are using him to draw more publicity to the film, since Mr. Fu is an openly gay Chinese man.” Ryan groans silently, watching Ning’s face hardens even more. This must have been what Ning was dreading. He can hear some murmurs in the audience; the crowd is antsy. “However, in contrast to when you were promoting _Springtime in Nanking_ in 2015, you accused a Chinese publication that published a photo of you and Mr. Fu of exploiting angles to make ‘you and your friend look abnormal.’ As that photo implied a romantic relationship between you, that remark could be interpreted as you conflating same-sex attraction with abnormality. Would you care to comment?”

Ning looks at Ryan for a moment, and Ryan gives Ning a tight smile. Ning can probably tell it’s fake, but Ryan just can’t muster up the energy for a better façade right now. Ryan then gives Ning a thumbs-up. The next few moments feel like they take forever, as Ryan looks around trying to figure out the least conspicuous way to leave the aisle.

Just as Ryan gets up, though, head turned toward his chosen exit, he feels a hand grab his wrist, and only then does he realize Ning jumped off the podium. The chattering from the audience had masked the thud of his feet when he landed in front of Ryan.

When Ryan looks up, he finds Ning looking at him, looking _back,_ in front of all these people. He doesn’t look away—he can’t. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see his parents’ shocked faces. He raises his eyebrows at James, whose eyes are wide. All James does is give him an almost imperceptible shrug, which, helpful. The audience collectively gasps, and then their footsteps as Ning guides him up the steps are suddenly the only sounds that can be heard in the theater.

They come to a stop at the podium, their sides touching. All eyes are on them, and Ryan wants to shrink away, but he doesn’t, just grips the side of the podium with a sweaty hand. If the cameras weren’t all on him and Ning, he’d be dropping his jaw to the floor.

The audience is silent, but the silence is charged, brimming with anticipation, and Ryan’s heart is hammering. No matter what Ning says next, Ryan knows what this is: a declaration. Something in him shifts, or rather, _grows,_ unseen by everyone in the audience, who only look on with polite confusion, as Ning takes a deep breath.

“Ryan is a gay Chinese _American_ man, and no, not just for appearances. He is a very good friend to me, now that we catch up on lost time.” Ning lets out a sigh. Hidden behind the podium, his hand is trembling. Ryan wants to take it in his, but he doesn’t, of course. Instead, he brushes his hand against Ning’s ever so slightly, skin immediately overheating at that slightest point of contact, and Ning’s hand grows still.

“What does Mr. Fu think?” the same man asks.

“Uh, yeah, I’d say we’re good friends,” Ryan stammers, caught off-guard, and the audience laughs. He’s surprised to find himself loosening up a little after hearing the laughter. “I think it’s cynical to say our friendship is just for show—why is Ning either homophobic or exploiting me? Why can’t he just have grown as a person? Yes, Ning is starring in a movie about gay people. Yes, I am gay. Yes, he specifically hired me to further strengthen the message of _The Same Wife._ So yes, I guess, you could say he’s using me to make a statement,” Ryan says, looking straight at the man and his placid smile and suddenly feeling angry, “but the thing is, the statement he’s making is that he _cares._ He cares about the LGBT community, and he cares about using his platform to uplift marginalized people’s stories, and he cares about _giving_ that platform to people like me. So I think it’s unfair to crucify him for a remark he made _seven years ago,_ when he’s shown through his actions that his views have evolved. I think it’s downright racist, too, because while I’m not condoning what Ning said all those years ago, I have never seen anyone ask a white man about _his_ messed-up remarks from even _half_ a year ago. _The Same Wife_ is groundbreaking—why distract from all that with things that happened seven years ago?”

“Ryan, it’s okay.” Ning gives his arm a steadying squeeze. “What I said back then _was_ messed up, and while I have changed my views, doesn’t mean it makes what I said back then okay, which is why I want to formally apologize for what I said seven years ago.” Earnestly, now facing the audience, he continues, “At the time, Ryan said I was very happy and confident with myself and that’s why I treat everyone equally.” Ning looks over to the side, where James is standing. James gives Ning the slightest nod. “But that was… not true. At the time, I was not happy with myself and took out my insecurities on other people. Now I am… a little better. I learn more about own biases and how to confront them every day, how to be more accepting.”

“Would you say, then, that Mr. Fu helped you change your views?” the reporter asks.

Eyes on Ryan again, Ning says, “It is not Ryan’s job to tell me when I am wrong, but when he tells me, I know is because he trust me to listen, so I listen and do my best to make right. He is very important to me.” Ning’s voice has grown quieter and lower as he continues, and he clears his throat now. Ryan turns his face more toward Ning’s, meeting his eyes with, well. He doesn’t know. Gratitude? Pride? Heart eyes? Either way, Ning must feel more confident, even emboldened, because he turns back to the audience and declares: “I resent idea that I only friends with Ryan because it looks ‘good,’ that I only do this movie for money and fame, like being gay is advantage or privilege. I do this movie to speak up for silenced people. I do this movie to tell people they are not alone. Everyone involved with _The Same Wife_ does. We all hope LGBT people—and people in general because learning to love self is universal experience—will accept themselves as who they are, will be inspired to be brave.” Ning clears his throat again, rotating to look at Ryan directly. His face is open, vulnerable. “I know I have been.”

Ryan’s eyes widen, and Ning’s face shutters closed into the universal _Oh, fuck_ expression. All around them, silence rings for five seconds before the cameras start going off and the audience starts throwing out more questions, some now directed at Ryan. Thankfully, that’s when James walks over to announce that the screening is over and to request questions be forwarded to him, pushing Ryan and Ning toward the exit. Ryan only has a second to shrug at a gobsmacked Reese and Nora, before it’s his turn to guide Ning out with his hand on his back, the press still asking questions despite James’ efforts.

The whole time, his heart is pounding, and his adrenaline is high, because. Ning? Did _That._

—

Thu, May 19, 2022, 11:11 PM  
**the art of communigaysian**

 **explora  
** THE FUCK WAS THAT

 **ryansgayte**  
IDFK!!!  
did you get my parents

 **explora**  
yeah  
they’re also asking what the fuck just happened  
where are you rn

 **ryansgayte**  
thanks!!  
theater’s blocked off, so we’re walking a street over to hail a cab

 **explora  
** reese (and i) (and your parents) want to know how ning’s doing

 **ryansgayte**  
he doesn’t look like he’s in the mood to talk atm  
but i think he’s okay  
all things considered

 **explora**  
reese: not in the mood to TALK, huh ;) OOOOH BOI GET IT  
your mom: get what  
reese: oh no

 **ryansgayte**  
shut UP and tell reese to focus on the damn road!  
and for the love of everything DON’T TELL MY MOM WHAT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: my original draft had ryan and ning kissing at the end of hotpot (when ning said "stay") and then i decided to delay it for dramatic romantic reasons but i'm suffering


	4. righted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “ _Now_ will you tell me why you’re sorry this time?”
> 
> Ning fidgets with Ryan’s belt loops, looking away. “I thought—I thought I said wrong thing at end.”
> 
> “Oh no, believe me, the only reason I haven’t brought it up yet is because I’m still processing the fact that you actually did that, Ning.”
> 
> “Is that… good or bad?” Ning looks at him with apprehension, but his face softens when Ryan’s smile widens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another frigay, another upgayte! this picks up right where the last chapter left off and i hEAR it's pretty interesting ;)
> 
> \- link to masterpost: [here](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/tagged/behind-the-scenes-masterpost)
> 
> \- link to notes: [[collapsible version](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/behindthescenes)] // [[non-collapsible (long) version](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/behindbehindthescenes)] 
> 
> \- link to reblog: [here](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/tagged/behind-the-scenes-4)
> 
> \- link to gaylist: [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLtStoH71eEUsdLEBRosaLNTcCKQ4dlULX)
> 
> \- no quick notes this time, i think, but check the notes link after reading this chapter if you're interested in how certain parts of this chapter/last chapter were originally going to go in my first draft/plot outline and visuals for a cEARtain something ;)

Ning follows Ryan inside his apartment wordlessly, draping his suit jacket over a chair and sinking down onto the couch. As Ning rolls up his sleeves, Ryan turns on only a lamp, the light a soft, warm glow illuminating Ning’s frame. Ning looks like a statue, cast from resignation and gilded with stoicism. He buries his face into his hands and heaves a sigh that gets lost in the city soundscape; they’re five stories up, but the cars passing by are still audible, a familiar, soothing ocean of sound in a city where skyscrapers are the closest things it has to palm trees.

Ryan takes off his jacket and rolls up his own sleeves. “You okay? The questions got a little hairy, but I think you handled them well.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what this time?” Ryan knocks his shoulder into Ning’s as he joins him on the couch. “Feels like you’re always sorry now. Your words, not mine.”

Ning smiles a little and looks away.

“Hey.” When Ning doesn’t look at him, Ryan gets off the couch and kneels in front of him, his hands on Ning’s knees. Ning widens his knees slightly, letting Ryan occupy that space. He’s tall enough that he can still meet Ning’s shy gaze with his own. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Right now or at screening?”

“Whenever. Just talk to me, please?”

Ning reaches forward to cup Ryan’s elbows. “I had this… fantasy in my mind. Reporter would ask me why I give you my scarf, and I would answer how I wanted, what I was thinking at moment they take the picture.”

Ryan slides his hands down Ning’s arms, skin touching skin the entire time, as he takes Ning’s hands in his. “Which was…?”

“That I gave you scarf because I didn’t want to get sick from kissing you later.” Ning clears his throat. “Well. If I got chance to.”

Ryan grins widely. Ning does, too. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” Then Ning’s face dims. “If they asked, I would want to say this. But then I started thinking about what happened last time and how you told them I am so kind and accepting. You knew I wasn’t. And then I started thinking about how happy I always am with you and how much more famous I am now and how it is so much harder to hide and how telling them a second time we are just friends hurts, hurts so much.” He touches his chest. “In here.”

Ryan bites his lip. His heart hurts for him.

More quietly, Ning continues, “Over the years, I thought about how the magazine said I look like I’m in love.” He meets Ryan’s eyes. “And I am.” Then, very softly, voice trembling, he says, “With you.”

The whispered words stretch between them, encompassing them both like a gentle embrace. It takes Ryan a moment to process Ning’s words, and when he does, his jaw drops, but Ning quickly averts his gaze, looking off to the side instead.

“But at the same time, I am too afraid to take big step coming out, so part of me is relieved I didn’t have to make that decision. But I also feel bad about the relief.”

Ryan tightens his grip on Ning’s hands, forcing Ning to look at him. Fiercely, Ryan says, “Never be sorry that you’re not ready to come out. Never feel like it’s something you _have_ to do, especially not for a relationship, okay?” Ryan rubs his thumbs over Ning’s knuckles gently. “I’m sorry I exerted that kind of pressure on you back then, when we have very different lives; I’m sorry I pushed my own issues with being in the closet on you. If we continue this—or rather, start this for real—I want to make it clear that coming out isn’t something I require or expect from you and I will never out you. Got it?”

Ning nods, breathing out slowly.

“You know, when you called me a friend today, I didn’t mind? Because this time is different from last time. You didn’t try to stick me back into the closet. You apologized for the things you said back then. You even corrected that reporter calling me a Chinese man. All those things are really important to me, and you did all of them, so.” Ryan presses a kiss to Ning’s palm. “Thank you.”

“ _You_ spoke up for me. Thank _you._ ” Ning pulls him up and straight into his arms, which Ryan accepts with an _oof_ and a complaint about his knees. Now Ryan’s kneeling on the couch in the space between Ning’s legs. He’s taller than Ning like this, and Ning’s just… _ethereal_ below him, all dark eyes and angular cheekbones and soft lips. Skin warm to the touch, and the only thing reminding Ryan he isn’t dreaming about being this close to him again. Now if only Ning would get rid of all that stubble (and shirt), so Ryan can see where that blush goes. “You’re only thirty-five, no complain.”

“It doesn’t mean my knees are as good as they were, like, fifteen years ago. Nowadays, if I’m going to be on my knees, it better be for a good reason, you know?”

Ning’s jaw drops. He shoves at Ryan playfully when he starts laughing, arms tightening around him when the shove almost knocks him off his lap.

Then Ryan grows serious again. “ _Now_ will you tell me why you’re sorry this time?”

Ning fidgets with Ryan’s belt loops, looking away. “I thought—I thought I said wrong thing at end.”

“Oh no, believe me, the only reason I haven’t brought it up yet is because I’m still processing the fact that you actually _did that,_ Ning.”

“Is that… good or bad?” Ning looks at him with apprehension, but his face softens when Ryan’s smile widens.

Ryan cups Ning’s face in his hands and slowly gets closer, giving Ning plenty of time to back away. They’re close enough to breathe in each other’s air now, close enough that that’s _all_ they can do. Ning’s arms come up around him, the touch almost too light to be felt, until Ning’s eyes dart to Ryan’s and he finds what he’s looking for. He settles his arms on Ryan’s waist, and Ryan shivers as the warmth of Ning’s hands travels down his spine. No longer restraining himself, Ryan traces his thumbs along the lines of Ning’s face.

Ning closes his eyes, waiting. Ryan takes this chance to look at him, to _really_ look at him, and thinks about the whirlwind this month has been so far—Ning coming back to New York, as gorgeous as ever; Ning pulling him up to dance, before dropping all pretense to hold him in his arms; Ning glowering at him but taking it upon himself to cook for Ryan anyway; Ning bowing next to him in front of Mama’s and Yehyeh’s grave; Ning smiling so beautifully at Ryan’s attempts to learn Mandarin.

Then Ryan delves deeper because that’s not the whole story—Ning apologizing for things he said and seven years ago, which Ryan hadn’t realized he had needed to hear; Ning being clear about wanting him but not pushing him; Ning hearing him out about his own desire for Ning, as well as his reservations; Ning owning up to how he’d reacted to the first photo of them all those years ago, in front of all those people; Ning being _in love_ with him.

Ning’s eyes are still closed, his face smooth and composed, his breathing slow and deep, but underneath, Ryan can sense the tension, the fear. Ning’s body is rigid, his knees locked. He’s ready to spring up and bolt.

But he’s still here. He’s not running away, like last time. His shoulders and elbows and everything in between are just as tense, but his hands are gentle, looser on Ryan’s hips than he’d like. Still. Waiting.

Ryan wonders if Ning has been like this the whole time.

Ning lets out another deep breath, but it comes out shaky, and then Ryan knows the answer—he just hadn’t known until now because he’d never allowed himself to get this close to Ning before.

 _Ning loves me,_ he reminds himself _. He_ loves _me._

“Last chance to back out,” Ryan murmurs, though he’s not sure to who. When Ning doesn’t move, Ryan finally, _finally_ kisses him, sweet and slow.

It’s corny as hell—which is why he’s not telling Reese any of this unless he’s under extreme duress—but kissing Ning knocks the breath right out of his lungs. The world has completely stopped, its gears grinding to a halt, sparks flying everywhere. Only he and Ning exist, and only to touch lips, again and again.

The world has completely _ended_ except for them; there is nothing beyond the boundaries set by the cradle of Ning’s body surrounding his. Everything else has fallen away.

No, not just stopped, not just _ended_ —the world has finally _righted_ itself, expanded on its laws of existence. Fire and water make boiling water. An observation brings with it a declaration of desire, a statement of fact. Where there is Ryan, there is Ning, all tangled limbs and intermingled breaths and reacquainted mouths, a whole world unto themselves.

It’s been seven years since he’s kissed Ning, and it feels familiar and new at the same time. The curve of Ning’s mouth is the same, but he kisses differently. Ryan wonders idly about who else Ning has kissed over the years before ditching that line of thought completely, eager to kiss away the seven years of distance. Ning is just as eager, but slightly restrained; mouth pliant and soft under his, Ning lets Ryan do as he wants, but doesn’t chase after Ryan retreats from another tease of his, as if Ning is afraid this is all a dream.

However, Ryan is undeterred, pressing his body closer to Ning’s. He groans when Ning gasps in his mouth and just keeps gently coaxing him with more kisses, all _yes_ es and _please_ s until Ning dares to hold him closer, until Ning does start chasing him every time he pulls away. He can feel Ning’s smile against his own when he shivers at Ning’s arms tightening around his back, at the heat of their bodies pressing up against each other even more than before.

Without breaking the kiss, Ryan carefully maneuvers his legs around Ning’s waist, hands in his hair as the kiss deepens. Ning slides his hands down Ryan’s back, his touch deliberate and slow as he pulls Ryan’s shirt out from where it was tucked into his pants. The shirt’s too tight for him to slip his hands underneath, so Ning settles for stroking the tiny sliver of skin just above his belt loops instead.

Ryan pulls away with a groan, his forehead against Ning’s, no sense of how much time has elapsed or where they are or even who he _is_ when he finally opens his eyes. All he knows is that the intense heat sitting in his chest grows exponentially upon seeing Ning’s face still angled up toward his, eyes still closed as they both catch their breath.

“What do you think?”

Ning opens his eyes. Laughs and shakes his head. He looks so _happy._ “What?”

“Good…” Ryan traces the curve of Ning’s bottom lip with his thumb, which Ning kisses. “Or bad?”

Ning’s eyes are dark. “I need more evidence before making conclusion.”

Ryan kisses him again. “Stay,” he begs quietly, heart in his throat, “with me. Tonight. Please?”

Ning swallows. Hoarsely, he says, “Okay.”

—

Despite the invitation, they stay on the couch for many more moments just kissing, Ryan seizing the opportunity to trace Ning’s ear with his tongue when Ning has to pull away for breath. Finally, Ning slips his arms under Ryan’s legs securely before getting up.

Miraculously, they’re able to keep kissing as Ning makes his way to the bedroom. He lays Ryan on the bed gently, looking deeply into Ryan’s eyes as he takes off his shirt at the foot of the bed. With each undone button, more and more of Ning’s chest is revealed.

Halfway through, Ryan gives up on keeping his eyes on Ning’s and ogles his muscled chest, shamelessly pressing the heel of his hand between his legs. He takes a lot of pleasure in watching Ning’s throat as he swallows.

Ryan sits upright against the headboard. “Okay, I didn’t say this earlier because I didn’t want to stop kissing you, but what you just did? Hot as hell. Feel free to do that again anytime, Mr. Buff Man.”

Ning ducks his head, blushing. He’s shirtless now, and it’s clear his blush can _travel,_ bringing Ryan’s attention to his already stiff nipples, the toned V making up the juncture of his thighs, the bulge obscured by his slacks. Ryan has to take a deep breath and forcibly direct his gaze toward Ning’s face at that point.

Meanwhile, Ning’s gaze drifts down Ryan’s body, a slow and lazy caress with a heat Ryan can actually feel on his skin. “Like you aren’t buff yourself. I’m not that much bigger than you.”

“Me, I’m still trying to bulk up. You?” Ryan looks him up and down again. “ _Got_ there. Several times over _._ ”

“I had new workout routine for a movie two years ago,” Ning explains. “Action movie, many explosions. I like the routine, so I continue.”

“I approve.” Ryan shucks his own shirt. As Ning pulls off his slacks, Ryan’s eyebrows shoot up so high that he’s half-afraid they’ll get stuck there. When he finally speaks, his voice is strangled. “You weren’t wearing anything underneath this whole time?”

“Everyone would see if I did!” Ning protests. “Besides, I thought you know. I learned my lesson with that seven years ago.”

“I was trying not to look.” Ryan swallows hard because Ning’s now completely naked, and all those ancient statues of naked men from Art History class in high school involved in his sexual gaywakening have _nothing_ on him. Every inch of Ning is muscled and thick, and that’s not even innuendo, just a fact. About Ning’s entire body. He’s also entirely too far away, and Ryan has to choke out a laugh, then, because he still can’t believe this is happening. “Does this mean you were like this yesterday, too, when my parents were making us do all those prom poses?”

“During all those shoots, too, which is something you already know,” Ning points out as he comes closer and joins Ryan on the bed. He crawls in between Ryan’s legs, their position from the couch now flipped. Ryan looks up at him and gets lost in his eyes for a moment, taking in just how dilated Ning’s pupils are, before he gets distracted by the fact that Ning is naked and _in his lap._

Ning runs his hands up and down Ryan’s sides, licking his lips as Ryan’s stomach quivers. Ryan’s hands shake when he tries to unzip his pants, so Ning takes pity on him, replacing his hands with his own. Ryan pants, clenching his sheets in his fists as Ning undoes the zipper, his deft fingers touching as much of his briefs underneath as possible as he does it, the heat of his touch quickly spreading everywhere.

Their eyes stay on each other as Ning helps him out of his pants, and the heat from Ning’s hands sliding the pants off Ryan’s legs, one leg at a time, is almost too much. Thigh to knee to shin. Skin on skin on skin. Ryan resists pushing into the heel of Ning’s hand, but only just. “Why not look? I thought obvious I want you to look, no?”

Ryan curls a hand around Ning’s hip, looking down at his hand as he runs his thumb along the skin connecting to Ning’s thigh. Quietly, he admits, “Because I’ve been so scared this whole time. I didn’t want to want you any more than I already did. I’m sorry. I wasn’t just jerking you around for fun.”

Ning brushes Ryan’s hair out of his face. “I know. Does it help to know I am scared, too?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe. Especially when your façade is all smooth and suave and sexy—”

Ning kisses him, cutting him off. He pulls Ryan’s hands away when he tries to pull off his briefs. Delighted, he says, “You think that? Tell me more.”

“You’ve gotten way more buff over the years.” Ryan watches him helplessly, trying to memorize as much of him as he can. “You _must_ have known that would do something to me when you returned to New York.”

Ning kisses down Ryan’s neck, raking his teeth lightly across Ryan’s skin. He follows the line of Ryan’s neck down to his clavicle, leaving a trail of light kisses. All throughout, Ryan can only clutch Ning’s biceps and try his best not to drown.

Ning’s stubble is rough on his skin, but he shivers as it brushes along his skin, so okay, maybe it can stay for now. Ryan runs his nails across Ning’s back lightly, delighting in how Ning’s concentration breaks for a second in his mission to cover all of Ryan’s chest with those kisses, especially his abs.

Ning gets his own back, though, when he stops his descent to lick him through his underwear. Ryan jerks. “I hoped. I wanted to look my best, so when I see you again, you notice me.”

“Consider your mission accomplished,” Ryan gulps, watching wide-eyed as Ning exhales right over his crotch.

Ning runs his hands along Ryan’s inner thighs, and Ryan trembles, even more so as Ning gets the front of his briefs wet with his mouth and continues even after it's completely soaked and clings to his skin. He can feel Ning’s hair against his inner thigh, and it tickles.

Ryan throws one hand over his face, while the other digs into his sheets. “If I die, please don’t tell anyone I went like this. Also, _please_ let me take these off.”

“Whatever you want,” Ning replies hoarsely.

When Ryan starts pushing his briefs off, Ning takes over because he is determined to kill him. The only thing Ning lets Ryan do to help is lift his hips as he pulls them off of him. After his underwear has been unceremoniously tossed to the floor, it seems to register to them both at the same time that they’re both finally naked.

Ning lowers his eyes for a moment, licking his lips at what he sees. “I want to put my mouth on you.”

Ryan gulps, not taking his eyes off Ning’s as he fumbles in his nightstand for a condom. After Ryan props himself up against his pillows, Ning rolls the condom on Ryan using just his mouth, and Ryan nearly combusts upon feeling the heat of Ning’s mouth.

“Okay, if I didn’t know the first time around that you’ve done this before, I definitely know now.” Ning leaves kisses along his inner thigh and cradles his testicles with one hand, grinning when Ryan groans. Then Ning strokes his thighs before putting his mouth on him again, taking in slightly more of him than before, hand wrapped around the base. “You’re going to kill me.”

Ning smiles before taking him in his mouth completely, looking up at Ryan the whole time. He grips Ryan’s hips to keep him still as he hollows his cheeks around him and continues at a leisurely pace, like he’s got all the time in the world, like Ryan isn’t about to die from this. Ryan’s heart pounds against his chest, his skin sweaty and feverish.

Ryan bangs his head against the headboard in frustration when Ning pulls off to kiss the base. His cock throbs more insistently the longer Ning ignores it. “Ning. Oh my god. How can you be so _good?_ ” Ryan strokes Ning’s hair, wishing he could touch Ning’s skin. His own skin is burning all over, and he wants to feel Ning’s back muscles flexing underneath his hands, not just watch. His hips jerk up a little even with Ning holding him down when Ning puts his mouth on him again. “Sorry. Oh, shit. Fuck.”

Ning then fucking _drags_ Ryan farther down the bed by hooking his arms under Ryan’s knees, before returning his focus to Ryan’s cock. No more teasing, no more games: Ning just sucks him all the way down, throat flexing around him rhythmically, and he’s so good that Ryan has to abandon Ning’s hair to pull at his sheets.

The sweat all over his skin, the fucking wonder that is Ning’s mouth, the fact that it’s _Ning_ —Ryan comes with a cry, his entire body shaking, because he felt that all the way down to his fucking _toes._ Ning keeps going even after that, though more gently, until Ryan finally gathers enough strength to shove him off.

Ryan pants, tying off the condom and tossing it to the floor. He pushes himself up to lean against the pillows again, while Ning leans back on his heels at the other end of the bed, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Oh my god, come _here,_ ” he groans. He then leans forward and cups Ning’s face in his hands, kissing him hard, before pulling him into his lap. “You have to teach me how you did that, so I can use it on you.” Ryan can’t remember when they started smiling but doesn’t think they’ll ever stop. Too blissed out for much else, he runs his hands along Ning’s back lazily.

In contrast, Ning is practically vibrating in his arms, thick and hot and heavy against his thigh. “A man needs to have some secrets.”

“You’ll cave,” Ryan says confidently. He bends his leg at a slight angle and grabs Ning’s ass for leverage, helping Ning rock against his thigh. Ning’s beautiful like this, face flushed with desire. Desire for _him._ They keep kissing for a while, hot and filthy, before Ryan sticks a hand out to grab lube. He runs his fingers along Ning’s length teasingly before wrapping a hand around him, his grip tight and slick.

Ning closes his eyes and lets out a curse too quiet for him to hear clearly, burying his face in Ryan’s shoulder. He’s leaking all over Ryan’s thigh and adding to the mess of lube and sweat already there, but Ryan hardly notices.

Ryan can feel himself stirring already at the sound of Ning’s quiet groans in his ear. An accidental jostle as Ryan goes for a better angle leads to him poking Ning in the hip.

“To be young again,” Ning says dryly, when he glances down.

He rolls his eyes. “Oh my god, shut up, I’m not _that_ much younger than you. It’s just been a while, okay?”

Ning grins, smug. “Also because is _me._ ”

“Yeah,” Ryan agrees, grinning back. He raps his knuckles on Ning’s chest. “But it’s not like you’re some frail grandpa, either.” He then wraps a hand around them both, grinding against him faster. “Come on, Ning.”

Ning angles Ryan’s head for a kiss with one hand and interlaces their fingers around them with the other, stroking them both far more slowly than Ryan was touching him earlier. Ning’s fingers between his, their cocks sliding together under—it’s unbelievably hot, intimate.

After they separate for breath, Ryan bites Ning’s shoulder lightly, eliciting a full-body shiver from Ning. In retaliation, Ning rakes his teeth just as lightly along Ryan’s earlobe. Then, he murmurs, “You know, your dad is right.”

Ryan likes to think the sounds he makes during sex aren’t _that_ embarrassing, but the horrified moan that comes out right after is definitely going to haunt his nightmares. He turns and hides his face in a pillow. _“What?”_

Removing the pillows from behind Ryan’s back, Ning has Ryan lie down flat on the bed, keeping him there with a hand on his chest, before pinning Ryan’s hands over his head with his other hand. “I think because white men are like sand, always fast hot fast cold, is your style, too. Because it’s what you’re used to. Like last time. So I show you why better to go slow. Long time to boil, hm?”

Ryan glares up at him. Ning only gives him a shit-eating grin. With his hair all messed up and his face lighting up with that smile and his skin glistening with sweat, Ning just looks truly… carefree, at home, in love—with Ryan, yes, but also—with _himself,_ completely comfortable and worry-free in Ryan’s bed, despite being so wound up, and he just.

Loves him. So much.

Now _that’s_ a thought he has to get back to later, but it doesn’t scare him as much as he always thought it would. Right now, though—“First things first, _never_ bring up my parents when we’re in bed ever again. Second, dragging me for the one night we spent together _seven years ago_ is very unfair, especially since I wasn’t the only one who was impatient. Seriously, how long have you been waiting to say that? Third—oh my god, do that again.”

“Bold of you to assume we will go to bed again.” Ning, the fucker, is _grinning_ , as he bucks his hips a second time, their cocks trapped between their stomachs. Ryan’s eyes roll into the back of his head, and Ning sucks lightly at his throat.

Ryan sputters for a moment, pauses, and tries again. “I’d shove you off if I didn’t think you’d just tease me more.”

Ning teases him mercilessly anyway, the grind lazy and hot and dirty, holding him with his gaze. “I want to make you know only my name.” He nips at Ryan’s throat. “ _Then,_ you can come.”

Ryan’s protest dies in his throat, brain short-circuiting at Ning’s suddenly quick, short thrusts. Their stomachs are a complete mess, slick and slippery and wet, and Ning still won’t free his hands. He’s restless, hands clenching and unclenching, aching to touch. He’s never been so… _hungry to touch_ before, but now the ache is relentless as it envelops his body. He wants his hands on Ning’s arms, the pads of his fingers on his muscles to feel them flex; all over Ning’s back, fingernails lightly scratching to elicit full-body shivers that will spread to his own body; on Ning’s ass for leverage to thrust, a promise of what else he can give him, if only Ning would _let—_

Ning doesn’t, of course. He just lazily drags his cock along Ryan’s abs, breathing heavily. His eyes are dark, but he’s grinning when he catches himself getting into it too much and slows back down again, chuckling at how Ryan has since gone incoherent and teary-eyed, at how the only thing Ryan now knows is unrelenting _heat._ It becomes too much soon after, and Ryan has to turn his head away in an effort to breathe in cooler air, futilely trying to cool his body down.

Undeterred, Ning follows his movement and traces his earlobe with his tongue. He gets closer, and a jolt runs through Ryan’s entire body the moment Ning notices what’s on his ear, mostly obscured by his hair. “Ryan—is that—”

Ryan chokes on his breath as Ning uncovers it, heart hammering against his chest. Ning has stopped moving, freeing Ryan’s hands as he moves in to look at it more closely. The desire, the pure _emotion_ he feels when Ning finally sees it in its entirety hits him like a wave, practically shattering him on impact, because how long has he fantasized about this moment, despite knowing it would never happen? His hips hitch up weakly, futilely, for friction that doesn’t come because Ning’s still holding himself up and Ryan has neither the coordination nor the forethought to lift his hips. “Please—Ning—”

Ning looks at him for a long second, eyes now a little damp, breath hitching. Helplessly, Ryan just looks back, weak and trembling, hands still above his head. Ning runs a finger along the back of Ryan’s ear, his touch shaky, reverent, incredulous. Ryan’s eyes dart all over Ning’s face, taking in the way Ning lights up as he figures it out. He doesn’t dare breathe.

A tear escapes Ning, and Ryan sticks out his tongue to taste the salt, breaking Ning out of his reverie. Without any more delay, Ning drops his weight on him again and kisses him hard. Only then realizing his hands are free, Ryan grabs his ass, giving Ning momentum as he grinds down, his thrusts short but powerful.

Eyes on Ning’s face, Ryan is suddenly struck by the similarities between tonight and seven years ago, when they had tumbled straight into bed after entering Ryan’s apartment and Ning had let go completely, head thrown back, eyes closed, skin on skin. They move against each other frantically, and when they both come, it’s so intense that Ryan doesn’t stop shaking for a good minute.

Ning trembles above him and then collapses next to him, dropping a kiss behind his right ear as he does. He props himself up against the pillows right when Ryan flops over, this time into Ning’s waiting arms, the mess all over his stomach be damned.

He lets his hands drift to Ryan’s sides and drags Ryan back up to kiss him. “Definitely good.”

They keep kissing long after that with their foreheads pressed together, grinning widely at each other when they finally separate to breathe.

—

After a cursory cleanup, they curl up together again. Ning nuzzles his ear the entire time, occasionally pausing to kiss and stroke the skin behind his ear, as if trying to tease out a difference in texture.

When Ning presses his lips against it for, like, the fifth time in as many minutes, Ryan pulls away and groans. “Admit it—you are _obsessed_ with my tattoo.”

“You say like it is bad thing,” Ning complains idly, going in for another kiss anyway.

“Well, you keep messing up my hair.”

“If I mess up hair more now than what we just did, means I did not do good enough job.” Solemnly, Ning vows, “I do better next time.”

Ryan shoves him.

Ning grabs him and kisses the tattoo again with an exaggeratedly loud smack. “Tell me about tattoo.”

“Ugh. It’s a really embarrassing story,” Ryan warns, “for me, anyway.”

Ning traces the outline of the butterfly with a finger from memory as he looks at Ryan with soft, gentle eyes. Ryan doesn’t think he’s ever seen Ning look so elated. His heart is so full. “All the more reason, then.”

Ryan loudly sighs with mock resignation. “Well, Janet and I have this rule where if one of us says we want to do something at least three times while we’re drunk, we have a month to get that thing done. I mean, this really shouldn’t have counted, because during the week I took off from work—the one I was originally going to spend in China with you, when I was thinking about moving there—I was moping a lot, so I was getting drunk a lot, which led to—”

“Talking about getting tattoo. A lot.”

“Yeah. We didn’t leave on the best of terms, but I still wanted something to remember you by, you know?” Ryan explains quietly. “I originally thought about getting a panda tattoo because of when we first met, but it wasn’t exactly the nicest memory. And I thought it might attract all sorts of racist comments if I was hooking up with someone. Like, an Asian guy with a panda for a tattoo, how stereotypical.” Ryan plays with Ning’s hands. “I later had the idea to hide it behind my ear, and then I started thinking about one of my favorite memories of you, when we all went to see that opera.”

“Yes, _The Butterfly Lovers._ One of my favorite Chinese stories.”

“It was also the first time my family was ever so comfortable with me being gay. Oh, and I decided to get it behind my right ear, because you were on this side of the bed that night. So yeah. That’s how the tattoo, why the butterfly.” He blushes. “As you can tell, I was feeling really morbid at the time.”

“Is technically not all tragic. When they become butterflies, they are together forever.” Ning kisses him behind his ear again, then his lips. “I love it. It’s beautiful.”

They make themselves more comfortable against the pillows, and Ning stretches an arm out toward him. Ryan burrows into Ning’s frame, pressing a kiss to his chest. For a while, they just breathe together, nice and slow. A light breeze comes in through the window, and Ning shivers, so Ryan drags the comforter up higher to cover his shoulders.

Ning is quiet for so long that Ryan thinks he dozed off, until he says, “When I went home last time, I did many projects. I threw myself into work to keep from thinking about us. But I couldn’t stop, especially about the night we spent together… and everything after. How you said I could stay with you, how you wanted to come to Beijing with me. As time passed, how I kept feeling everything close in on me. How I only thought about future of my career and make my parents proud. How I never thought about own happiness even once. Mine _or_ yours.”

Ryan can’t even begin to articulate how his heart aches for him, so he settles for kissing Ning’s fingers instead. “Do your parents know?”

“Yes. I told them little by little. I started by telling them about breakup, after _Springtime in Nanking_ came out and very popular, because I feel… nothing to lose. So I tell them I like men first, about you later.” Ning clears his throat and sighs. “They were… not happy. But I did not want to marry Miao, and I did not like magazines always asking when our wedding will be. The thought of marriage felt like… death. A trap. Permanent. Worse than how I feel about being gay, which you know, I grew up being taught to be gay is abnormal.”

“I’m sorry. I hate that you had to grow up like that. I can’t even imagine what it would be like, but I feel for you.”

“It’s part of why I am so attracted to you from almost beginning,” Ning admits quietly, using his other hand to fiddle with the comforter. His mouth is curved into a small smile, the lines of his face smoothed out. “When I saw you looking at me while I was changing.”

“Really,” Ryan deadpans, lifting his head to look at him. “I couldn’t tell.”

Ning uses Ryan’s hand to hit him. They engage in a brief tussle that ends with them holding hands.

“I’m serious! You were saying all that stuff about me being ‘American borrow Chinese’ and being abnormal and being an out gay Chinese guy with no shame very derisively.” Ryan gives him an unimpressed look. “What was I supposed to get from that, other than that you hated me?”

“I was jealous,” Ning confesses. He hooks his chin on top of Ryan’s hair, messing it up even more, but Ryan doesn’t move away. “I actually admire you a lot. Being able to be yourself and your parents accept and love you… I never thought that could happen, and I gave you a lot of shit. I’m sorry.”

“Just because it’s been easier for me doesn’t mean it’s the same for everyone. I’m sorry, too. Again. For not being more sympathetic about your situation.”

Ning shakes his head. “I should not pressured you into lie about being gay.”

Ryan says nothing, just kisses him as forgiveness; he knows Ning will understand. He taps his fingers on Ning’s arm. “You said you were attracted to me pretty early on,” he prompts lightly. It’s not the most graceful way to change the subject, but it’ll have to do because he doesn’t want to dwell on the bad for the rest of the night. “Tell me more.”

“Well.” Ning hums thoughtfully, clasping their hands together. “You were always impeccably dressed, so of course I think you physically attractive. But so annoying! So American, know nothing about Chinese culture. You were not what I expect. By the way, I know you lied about ‘pussy’—thanks to you, many of my older fans still believe ‘pussy’ mean ‘fashionable.”

“My legacy.” Ryan cracks up. After a second, Ning joins in. “Wait. When you caught me looking—really? It seemed like that was when you hated me the most.”

“I was not completely sure for a while. Because I thought I could not stop thinking about you because I felt shock that your parents know and okay with you being gay. But then you told me you only date white men, and I felt sad. Only then I realized I want you and you would never consider me as an option.” Ning shrugs, the set of his shoulders belying his nonchalance. “I thought, end of it.”

Ryan kisses his shoulder. “Honestly, so did I.”

“And then I met your parents, and… I started wondering what like, be your boyfriend for real.”

“Speaking of my parents, they had me download Duolingo for them because they want to be able to talk to you in Mandarin.”

Ning smiles into Ryan’s hair. “I should start learn Cantonese, huh? I know very little, but I want to be able to talk to them in Cantonese, too. Anyway, as we started fighting less, you started smiling more, and I started noticing how beautiful you are. But most of all… how you are so comfortable with yourself, how you go out in the world as who you are, how you live as yourself. Your confidence and unwillingness to back down, immensely appealing.”

“Oh. I was jealous of you, too,” Ryan admits quietly, blushing.

“Me? Really,” Ning deadpans back. Now it’s Ryan’s turn to use Ning’s hand to hit him. The tussle this time ends with Ning pressing Ryan’s hand to his own heart.

“You’re just so proud of being Chinese, which made me cringe a lot at first, to be honest, but I knew underneath _that…_ I was jealous of how you’d grown up not being made fun of for being Chinese. How at home you are with being Chinese. How much you love being Chinese and take that with you everywhere you go,” Ryan confesses. “Plus, not gonna lie, I’ve also been a little jealous of how proud my parents are of you. Watching them with you seven years ago, I realized for them, me being gay is fine if I’m more Chinese, which I don’t hate them for. It is what it is.” He shrugs. “I’m still not comfortable with being Chinese a lot of the time. But it’s getting easier to live with.”

“You get more crap for not being ‘Chinese enough’ than I realize before,” Ning says softly. “But I think your parents are proud of you, too. You saw how much they smile when we meet for dimsum?”

“It wasn’t always like that, you know that. Things are a lot better now than they were. Helps that Reese spent part of her childhood growing up in Hong Kong, is also gay, and has always believed our company would be successful.” Ryan shakes his head. “I feel like… my parents thought me and my boyfriends were the only outliers. It wasn’t until they met Reese and later Nora that they _really_ understood that it wasn’t just me. That it wasn’t me being ‘girly’ or whatever that made other guys attracted to me.”

“I’m sorry. I hate you have to go through that.”

Ryan yawns. “No more apologies for tonight. I think we’ve said enough of those for a while.”

Ning laughs. He’s quiet for a moment before asking, “Tell me. What did you think of me when you first met me?”

Almost immediately, Ryan replies, “Annoying, too Chinese. Nice abs, but not my type, so I really didn’t care about you. Definitely not someone I could see as my boyfriend.”

Ning lifts his face out of Ryan’s hair, looks straight at him. “How about now?”

There’s no getting around it; Ryan’s face heats up so much that Ning actually presses a hand to his forehead in concern and he has to hide his face in Ning’s chest. Laughing softly, Ning strokes a hand through his hair as he waits for Ryan to resurface.

“You see, I used to wonder how you were able to hook up with other guys because while you’re attractive, you’re also a huge grouch,” Ryan says, voice muffled. “Turns out you’re devastatingly smooth when you’re not grumpy.”

Ning lifts Ryan’s chin up so that they’re facing each other again. He’s still smiling shyly. “Well, can you?”

Ryan continues blushing, but doesn’t look away. “Can _you?_ ” he counters wittily.

“Yes. So much. If you want me,” Ning says quietly.

Ryan is quiet, too. “Please. Yes. Yes, I want.”

Ning’s next kiss is gently earnest, a sweet and yearning caress that leaves Ryan chasing after his lips when they break apart. It’s a long moment before they pick the conversation back up. “Not that I am unhappy, but why did you change your mind about me?”

“I trust you now. Not just because of tonight, though I _do_ trust you to not force me back into the closet when talking to the press ever again, but also because I know how hard you’ve been working to make sure I know how you feel about me. So I know and trust that if we don’t work out this time, it won’t be because you’re burning bridges for your career again.” He pauses. “Of course, if it turns out that charming my parents all over again is just part of your game, this is a devastatingly cruel con. Which I doubt. So I’m just going to be happy with you and not worry. If this ends, I won’t regret getting this second chance with you. I’ll just get another tattoo during my next midlife crisis and move on.”

“Me, too. I was thinking to get a crab.” When Ryan tries to shove him this time, Ning’s ready for it, grabbing him and holding him close before he can. Ning exhales a bit shakily. “I don’t want to make same mistakes again. This time, I do right. I want to do things like take you out on date. But…”

“We’d have to be subtle about it, I know. I’d like that,” Ryan says softly, turning upward from where his head is laying on Ning’s chest to kiss his chin.

Ning doodles idly on Ryan’s arm with a finger; it takes Ryan a hot second to realize he’s tracing a butterfly. The steady curves and swirls Ning’s drawing on his skin are soothing.

“Can I ask you about… the past seven years?” Ryan asks quietly, ear pressed against Ning’s heart. Ning’s heartbeat matches his own, slow and steady.

“Yes,” Ning says, just as quietly.

Ryan draws a butterfly of his own on Ning’s thigh as he gathers his thoughts. Ning’s leg twitches. “How did Miao react to the breakup? Who broke up with who?”

“She did. She was upset, but we were both miserable.” Ning continues his own doodling. “But publicly, we say I did because I don’t want things harder for her. If we tell world I dumped her, then everyone is more sympathetic to her. If world knew she dumped _me,_ maybe they get angry at her for breaking my heart, make her the villain. Or maybe they realize the rumors about you and me were true.” Ning sighs. “I am… glad she did. Hard over the years to deal with questions about why I am single for so long, but… better she an ex than a tóngqī (同妻).”

“What’s that?”

“The wife of a gay man.”

“Like in _The Same Wife?_ ”

“A little, yes, but usually wife is straight woman who doesn’t know she married gay man. There are many in China.” Ning plays with a corner of the duvet. “We still talk sometimes. She was… one of the very few people I could talk to about you.” He lets out another sigh. “I know how my words tonight at the end of screening sounded like, and I wanted to imply what I did, but I worry too many people will figure out. Not that I regret, but press may connect tonight with past rumors—from before I even met you—and I don’t know what they’ll do to Miao.”

Ryan kisses him right over his heart. “Maybe they will, maybe they won’t. I think it was vague enough. Besides, this is James’ specialty. In the event the press does focus on that, though—whatever you want to do, I’ll be right there with you.”

“Thank you,” Ning says so tenderly that Ryan’s heart might break from the sweetness of it all.

Ryan shakes his head, hair tickling Ning’s chin. “Not something to thank me for.” He breathes in Ning’s scent and exhales a soft sigh of his own when Ning presses lightly on his tattoo. “But what about your parents? Are you worried about what they will think once they hear about it?”

“I don’t know. I am so successful now, so not much they can say, other than they wish I wasn’t abnormal. I told them almost immediately after Miao and I broke up that I like men, but not about you until maybe three years ago.” Ning laughs. It’s a light puff of air just above his head. “They not happy to learn I was in love with an American.”

Startled, Ryan moves away to make eye contact with him. “What?”

Ning kisses the center of Ryan’s hand. “Come back here. Bold of you to assume you are not the American.”

“That’s not what I meant, you dick. You knew… even back then?”

Ning looks away, face red. His blush is traveling downward again. “Lifetime to cool down, remember? I think… how I feel about you… was always there. I didn’t recognize for a while, but even back then I knew for sure I would do anything to see you again so I can apologize.”

“That reminds me. You’re still not forgiven for bringing up my dad while we were, you know.” Ryan returns to Ning’s embrace and shoves at him gently. “Asshole. That was seriously a dick move.”

“So much name-calling.” Ning pretends to look wounded, though he soon grows serious. “My parents still want grandkids. They still want me to carry on the family name. But I’m done doing what everyone else want.”

“ _Do_ you want kids? Just in general.”

“I don’t know. In China, getting married and having kids is expected, so I always view as my obligation, an eventuality. But every time I think about it, I feel trapped because that means I will have to have a wife—that I will be forced to live the rest of my life with this secret, that I accept being in closet would be my life forever. No child deserves a father with that kind of life.” Ning smiles wryly. “As you can see, I had my own reasons for wanting the role of Anhai specifically. How about you?”

“I… I always thought no, because I didn’t want anyone to go through what I did as a child. My parents were harsh, always criticizing me, while other children bullied me. Ever since I came out to them, my parents have pretty much accepted, and maybe assumed, that me being gay meant I wasn’t going to have kids. For the past few years, as my career grew, I’ve always been too busy to date, let alone marry and have a family, but…” He thinks about meeting Sky for the first time. “I don’t know, now. I don’t know how much of it is me wanting to be a better father than my own was when I was little and how much of it is because of my parents wanting me to have kids, from before I came out to them, I mean. And how much of it is just me really wanting to start a family.”

“Ah, the eternal question. Do I really want kids or just pressure from Chinese parents?”

He’s so shocked that he forgets to respond for a moment. “Yeah, that’s it exactly! See, I’ve tried explaining this to previous boyfriends before, but you… you really get it.” He pauses. “Was that weird? Bringing up kids right now?”

“I don’t think that is weird.” Ning shrugs. “Never had boyfriend before. But I feel, boyfriends is already a big step. Kids are just another, especially since we are both thirty-something and starting to think about, whether because we or parents want. If can do one, why not other?”

“Just feels like we didn’t do anything in order, that’s all.”

They share another kiss. Ryan’s pretty sure he will never get tired of it, the easy press of their lips. Ning has never had a boyfriend before. Ryan is _his first boyfriend._ The weight of that doesn’t scare him; it just makes his heart flutter. Just makes him _happy._

Ryan rests his head in the space between Ning’s neck and shoulder. “Not that I mind doing things out of order, but fantasizing about a future together… that was how we ran into trouble last time. And this time, there are hypothetical kids involved.” Lazily turning his body more toward Ning, Ryan murmurs, “We should probably think of the hypothetical children.”

“So we hold off for now, just enjoy.” Ning turns slightly to kiss his forehead and plays with Ryan’s fingers. “But you must know that I do not think how I feel about you will ever go away,” Ning says simply. How is it possible for what he’s saying to sound so much like… an immutable truth, a statement of fact? “I know there is chance you don’t want the same thing, but you must know: there is no one else for me. Only you. It’s okay if you want this to be a fling. I am just happy we have this second chance to be together. To try again.”

“Ning,” Ryan says, just as quietly, lifting his head and turning to face him. He cups Ning’s cheek, and after a beat, Ning meets his eyes, trembling just a bit. “What makes you think I want this to be just a fling? You _just_ asked to be my boyfriend, and I said yes.”

Ning shrugs. “Maybe you only say yes because closure, get it all out of your system, then we break up after I leave.” He smirks, though Ryan can sense the anxiety underneath. “I _am_ very handsome. Not to say you are easy, but…”

“Hey,” Ryan protests, shoving lightly against his chest. Ning doesn’t budge. As expected. “It took seven years for us to fall back into bed together. I’d say that’s the very opposite of easy.” He gives Ning another kiss, chaste and sweet. “Besides… what Dad said, about what we have…” Then he taps behind his right ear, watching Ning’s eyes follow his movement. “I think he’s right. From your side _and_ mine.” More somberly, he traces his finger along Ning’s shoulder. “When do you leave?”

“I’m here for the rest of May, then have to continue tour.”

“Oh.”

Hoarsely, Ning says, “Can we not think about that right now, just enjoy rest of night?”

Ryan presses a kiss to Ning’s throat. “Yeah. Yeah.”

They don’t talk for a while, kissing again and again, sharing soft smiles. Securely held in Ning’s arms, Ryan still has to grip Ning by the shoulders for support because kissing Ning makes him dizzy. Amazingly, he can feel himself getting aroused again, but he’s content to just keep exchanging lazy, indulgent kisses.

Ning slides the palms of his hands up and down Ryan’s back in a valiant attempt to protect him from the cool night air. Quietly, he asks, “Will you tell me about what past seven years is like for you?”

“Well, my sheets still smelled like you, so my week’s vacation originally meant for checking out China with you was spent crashing at Janet’s place,” Ryan says lightly. “Then I came back and washed them. I thought about getting rid of them, but then I kept thinking about how my parents would say that was wasteful, so I didn’t. After that week, I went back to work to do the new assignment Francesca had for me, which was for a shoot in Taiwan. While I was there, I went clubbing. I just thought it was really funny I was in a club of only Asian men because that was the last place I ever thought I’d ever willingly step foot in, but there I was. I danced with some guys but left alone; it was a long time before I even _thought_ I could get over you.”

“I’m sorry.”

Ryan shakes his head. “Let’s hold off on the apologies for now, okay? Anyway, being with you changed how I felt about dating only white men—there were some things I never had to explain to you that I had to with my white boyfriends, like the whole issue of having kids. So I stopped looking for just white guys, which ended up being kind of cool? I didn’t realize how many white guys expect Asian guys to bottom until I stopped sleeping with only them. Also, I thought about _that night_ a lot. Obviously. You know most of everything else with the company and stuff.”

“I had a few dates with women, but my heart wasn’t in it. As I became more famous, harder to sneak around, so eventually I gave up because the risk was not worth it.” Ning’s quiet again. “I hate I cause you so much pain.”

Ryan shrugs. “It was bad, but I survived. And not like you weren’t going through your own stuff. I’d rather talk about happier things. What was your favorite part about that night?” He grins. “Was it… _‘Oh Ning, Ning, harder, harder’?_ ”

Ning blushes and shoves him again, which is an answer in itself. This is going to be a Thing with them, probably. “How about you? What do you like?”

“You, really.” He pauses, thinking—

“I know I said love a lot tonight, but please, you don’t have to say back just because I did. Don’t feel obligated. I only said because it took me years to realize and I wanted you to know right away.”

Ryan nods. “Lifetime to cool down, right.” He kisses him again. “I’ll hold off on saying anything right now because I don’t want to upstage your dramatically smooth antics from tonight.” He stretches in Ning’s arms, luxuriating in the warmth of him. It’s ridiculous how everything with Ning feels like he's falling in love for the first time again, how much he feels like…

 _Like a virgin…_ which brings back all sorts of feelings, memories, and an idea he can’t let himself do anything with. Right now, at least.

“You call tonight smooth?” Ning shakes his head, but he’s smiling.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean _just_ tonight. You’ve been plenty smooth ever since you came back to New York,” Ryan corrects himself, grinning back. “What would _you_ call it, then?”

“Honest,” Ning murmurs into his hair. “Just letting myself be me.”

Brimming with too much joy he doesn’t know what to do with, Ryan wants to giggle, but he doesn’t. Presses his ear to Ning’s heart instead. “Will… will you stay the night?”

“Do you want me to go?”

“No. Stay. Then, when we wake up, help me cook breakfast. You’re always taking care of me,” Ryan says softly. “Teach me how to do the same for you.”

“I will,” Ning promises. “But first…” He comes closer to kiss him again, and Ryan’s ready for it this time; he maneuvers himself between Ning’s legs, dropping his entire weight on him. Then Ning flips them over, and they don’t talk again for a good while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't forget to check the notes to see what the ink looks like!
> 
> next up: the morning(ish) after, more family stuff, and ofc lots and lots of fluff!!! see ya next frigay! it's all established relationship fluff from here! (and some canto chinese american identity stuff thrown in)
> 
> p.s. forgot to mention this for ch3, but remember how ning didn't answer when ryan was like "haha my family always did hate that you were the one i let get away"?????? pls take a moment to imagine with me ning's reaction to this: ning's brain short-circuiting at the thought of being around to celebrate chinese holidays with ryan, of being around to celebrate those holidays with ryan bc he's ryan's boyfriend........bc he's ryan's husband.........now THAT'S quality pining gay silence


	5. no balance sheet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Speaking of learning, this would be the perfect place to knock me out.”
> 
> “I already am, yes?”
> 
> Ryan rolls his eyes as Ning actually giggles. “I _meant,_ punch me out for saying being gay is really easy nowadays when we were here the first time.”
> 
> “Why? You apologize, not say again. Good enough for me.”
> 
> After their food arrives, they’re quiet as they eat. Then, Ryan admits, “I like that we’re learning. Together and for each other.”
> 
> “Me, too,” Ning says, and they clink their wine glasses together. The petite sirah is amazing, as always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> frigay has come again, and so has another upgayte! this chapter focuses on the last days of ning's stay in nyc (last week or so of may, tho there are a lot of scenes, so let's just pretend time actually does go that slowly and ignore that i forgot how time worked when i was writing this bc i didn't want them to part just yet)
> 
> \- link to masterpost: [here](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/tagged/behind-the-scenes-masterpost)
> 
> \- link to notes: [[collapsible version](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/behindthescenes)] // [[non-collapsible (long) version](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/behindbehindthescenes)] 
> 
> \- link to reblog: [here](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/tagged/behind-the-scenes-5)
> 
> \- link to gaylist: [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLtStoH71eEUsdLEBRosaLNTcCKQ4dlULX)
> 
> \- quick note for ch5: jzong is sticky rice wrapped in bamboo leaves, made for duanwu festival. jzong is just how i've chosen to romanize it for chinese american canto (in mando, it's zongzi). canto jzong is savory, while (from what i've read) beijing-style zongzi is sweet. check the notes for a link about duanwu/dragon boat festival potentially being a gay valentine's day!
> 
> \- also i'm not entirely sure that this is a pet name that ning would use bc i'm not sure what are common pet names chinese people in their 30s would use (but i went with it bc according to stuff i've read and a friend i asked, it's a pretty common one [for young people at least])
> 
> \- oh and before i forget, let me just say, i really feel like the song "location unknown" by honne fits ryan and ning to a T

They wake up the next day too late for it to still be considered morning. There’s a lot of hip-checking between them as they brush their teeth, get dressed, and head to the kitchen, Ning going first because Ryan wants to fix his hair.

Once Ryan is satisfied with the state of his hair, he leaves the bathroom to find Ning studying his first wall of framed magazine covers, then his second, which is half-empty because he hasn’t found the time to put up the rest yet.

Ning extends a hand toward the one of himself, tucked away behind a plant. “You still put mine up?”

“Not at the beginning,” Ryan admits. “I bought a couple copies from a newsstand and set them on fire. My parents even had to physically stop me from destroying their copies.”

“They had, too?” Ning tears his eyes away from the framed cover to meet his in surprise.

“Yeah. It was the first time they were actually interested in what I do, which was nice.” Ryan pours them both water and downs his own glass in one gulp. “I finally put it up shortly after Reese and I started the FashionEASTas because by that point, I was just like, fuck it, I’m proud of the work I did for you, so why _can’t_ I put your cover up on my wall? And hide it behind a plant.”

“Good thinking,” Ning agrees, though he’s starting to look guilty again. “I—” He’s cut off by his stomach rumbling, and Ryan is grateful for it because Ning’s done enough apologizing for now. “Sorry.”

“Nah, I’m hungry, too. What do you want to eat?”

“Whatever is fastest; I am very hungry because someone wore me out last night.” Ning smiles, and Ryan wants him again already. “He’s very demanding.”

“Haha, funny. Like you didn’t catch up to me in terms of orgasms in, like, half an hour.” Ryan grabs eggs out of the fridge and starts cracking them against a pan, dumping the contents in a large bowl. “Omelet sound good? And some congee?”

“Sounds great.” Ning wraps his arms around Ryan’s waist from behind and nuzzles Ryan’s tattoo, making Ryan’s face break into a smile. “Can I help?”

Ryan pauses in the middle of cracking an egg and lets its contents drip into the bowl, resting his head backward against him. They share another kiss, sweet and lingering, until both their stomachs grumble. Laughing embarrassedly, Ryan asks, “Could you repeat that? I forgot what your question was.”

Ning presses his face into Ryan’s neck. “Don’t remember either,” he mumbles. “Too distracted.”

“Oh right, food. Go look for stuff to put in the omelet.” Ryan washes the rice and resumes cracking the eggs, running a finger along the inside of the shell, but now there’s unease in his chest, and he’s not sure what set him off. “You can have dairy, right? I have some cheddar in there somewhere.”

“Yes, but I do not like cheese.”

“Your lactose tolerance is wasted on you,” Ryan complains, shaking his head, but his heart isn’t really in it. He places a pot of water on the stove and pours the rice in it. “What’s the point of being able to eat cheese if you just… _don’t?_ ”

“Too smelly. I only like ricotta and mozzarella. And cream cheese.” Ning finishes his glass of water in two gulps before refocusing on the fridge.

“So the ones that taste _least_ like cheese. That last one doesn’t even count!”

“Completely right. You are smart one,” Ning says, grabbing the cheddar anyway, along with some chives, spinach, and turkey bacon.

“I have some scallion growing in that pot over there. Cut some for me, please? I know it’s weird, but I like to put it in everything.”

“Only because you ask so nicely. And truly, man after my own heart.” Ning kisses him once when he passes by, and Ryan’s heart speeds up, but not in a good way, like only five minutes ago.

“I’m always nice,” Ryan says absentmindedly, as his stomach inexplicably twists itself into a knot.

Ning rinses the chives, scallions, and spinach, hand brushing Ryan’s as he grabs the chopping board. “Nah. I remember telling don’t bite, and then later you do.”

It occurs to Ryan, then, that this is the first time he and Ning have ever cooked together, and his movements falter for a second. Blinking hard, he forces himself to refocus on the eggs, the steady _chop-chop-chop_ from Ning’s side of the counter helping ground him, but only a little.

“You liked it, though.” Ryan finishes cracking the last of the eggs—they’re eating a half-dozen between them—and uses a fork to mix the yolks and whites together. For a minute, the only things that can be heard are Ning’s chopping and Ryan’s fork clinking against the bowl.

The quiet domesticity feels familiar, but it's a false memory, and it hits him, then, that this is the first time they’ve cooked together because their last morning after hadn’t been like this at all—

Ah.

Ryan pours oil in the frying pan. Once the oil starts sizzling, he drops the beaten eggs in, flipping it over after it finishes cooking on one side. Ning drops some scallions into the pot of congee. Ryan stares at the pan, observing the way the heat insinuates into the egg and makes its edges curl. His stomach curls, too, into an even bigger knot, even as he unravels the rest of his feelings—they hadn’t had a morning after like this last time because—

They’d never gotten this far.

Hadn’t been able to.

“I do,” Ning agrees, interrupting Ryan’s thoughts. He brings over the chopping board. With one practiced sweep of the knife, the chives and spinach splash their way into the pan. He then cuts up the turkey bacon with a pair of scissors as Ryan sprinkles the cheddar over half of the omelet. Once Ning’s hands are free, Ning loosely hugs Ryan from behind. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Ryan,” Ning says gently, pressing a soft kiss behind his ear as he waits.

Ryan flips the omelet again, lets it sit for a few seconds, and turns off the stove. The bubbling pot of congee quiets. Instead of speaking, he gently removes Ning’s arms from his waist and grabs plates from the cupboard in front of him. When he tries to lift the omelet with the spatula, it starts breaking apart. Then he stares at it and tries not to see it as a metaphor for the future of their relationship.

“Let me,” Ning offers.

Ryan lets him take over, leaning against the counter as he watches Ning transfer the omelet to the plate. “I think… part of me is still thinking about what happened last time. The morning after, specifically, when we were both so hopeful, and I was so… infatuated, to say the least. So I guess I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop, which is ridiculous, because who's going to fire me this time? Myself?” He laughs at himself, but Ning doesn’t join in. “Plus the fact that you’re leaving soon… I don’t _want_ to be thinking like that, but I can’t help it, and it’s not because of you, okay? I trust you. I’m just… being Like That.”

Ning brings the plates to the table. Ryan follows him and uses a fork to cut the omelet in half, eyes focused downward as he moves the cheesy half to his own plate. Ning steps much closer to him, but Ryan stalls, too afraid to face him.

After a beat, Ning finally gives up on waiting for him and takes the fork, resting it on a plate. He cradles Ryan’s face, thumbs stroking his cheekbones, but it’s not until Ning cups his chin that Ryan finally looks up. Ning looks solemn, the most serious Ryan has ever seen him.

Then, he gives Ryan one of the most emotionally charged kisses of his life—there’s just no other way to describe the way Ning kisses him like he needs him more than oxygen; the slight pause a second after he presses his lips to Ryan’s when he falters, as if afraid he’s shown his hand before diving right back in; the gentle pull on Ryan’s bottom lip with his teeth, coaxing Ryan into deepening the kiss. When they break apart for air, Ryan’s arms are wrapped around Ning’s back, while Ning’s are slung across Ryan’s neck.

“I will do everything I can to prove to you,” Ning vows hoarsely, tracing the line of Ryan’s neck with his lips.

“This is on me, okay?” Ryan lets out a shuddery breath. “It’s not… you’re not doing anything wrong.”

Ning shakes his head. “We do together. Go slow, learn more about each other as people, hm? Because I feel like we know each other well on some levels, but not on others.”

Ryan grins. “ _Extremely_ well, since you had your tongue in my—”

Blushing, Ning covers Ryan’s mouth with a hand, before growing serious. He runs his hands down Ryan’s chest again and rests them on Ryan’s sides. “I want to win over your parents.”

Ryan bites his lip. “You already did. Seven years ago, remember?”

Ning ducks his head. Already, a blush is blooming all over his face. “I… never had chance to impress a boyfriend’s parents before. Can I still try?”

Ryan mirrors him, hands on Ning’s hips. “Of course. If you want. Far be it from me to deny you the full experience of being my boyfriend. Here’s a cheat—just say you love Mom’s food. She makes really good jzong, and you know that holiday’s coming up. She’s definitely going to want you to join us for it.” His smile dims. “Before you leave.”

“Is not ending, you understand? Just because I’m not here doesn’t mean will be any way like last time.”

“I know.” He swallows, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “When do you have to go?”

“I go to Chicago on first of June, tour Midwest, then San Francisco, so I am still in U.S. for first half of June. After that, I have two or three days before I start Europe part of tour, so I can come back to New York?”

“That would be nice,” Ryan murmurs. Then he frowns. “Oh, wait. I’ll still be in France then. Shit.”

“I remember Dex mentioned this to James at beginning. Why you go to France?”

“It’s just this silly trip I’ve been planning since three years ago because I was, like, sad about being single forever and decided if I was still miserable about being single at thirty-five, at least I’d be having my midlife crisis in France at some fancy resort. Well. Technically one week there, one week in Paris.”

“One of your drunk ideas, I am guess?”

“Yeah. Janet and Reese forced me to buy the tickets. I’ve been feeling really burned out from work, and since I’m free for two weeks in the middle of June, I thought that would be a good time to go, before coming back for the FashionEASTas’ five-year birthday party at the end of the month.” Ryan clears his throat, heart thumping against his chest because he’d be putting himself out there again—but. Things are different now. “Come with me. To France.”

“Really?” Ning’s face breaks into a grin. “You want me to?”

“If you can. You’ll be in Europe anyway, and well, I fully expected to be spending my entire time in France wallowing.” Ryan wrings his hands. “But now you’re here, so—unless—you think we’re moving too fast—”

Ning catches Ryan’s hands in his. “I would love to. We moved nothing for long time, so we make up for lost time now. I go to Paris for third week of June, so we can have one week there together. Nights, at least.” He bumps his hips against Ryan’s gently. “One week to learn more about each other, in France. I like this idea.”

“Me, too. We have one week here before you leave New York, too. Ugh. At the beginning, I thought you being here couldn’t go by fast enough, but now we’re finally getting our shit together, and we immediately have to separate,” Ryan says softly.

“I wish I could stay longer.” Ning lets out a sigh. “I already extend time here as long as I could.”

“No, this isn’t on you; this is literally your job. Just, your home being Beijing, mine being here… it’s pretty obvious it’s going to be a little tricky. I’m not backing out,” Ryan says quickly, when he notices Ning about to interrupt. “I’m just saying it’s going to feel very touch-and-go for a while.”

“But we will in touch every day, I promise. Call when can. Text when can’t.”

“Send me a selfie every day because otherwise I’ll miss my man too much,” Ryan teases, only half-joking.

“Your man,” Ning murmurs. “I like being your man. I want to be your man for a long time. For as long as you will have me.”

The way Ning’s eyes glaze over seems significant, so Ryan pulls back a tiny bit and asks, “You’re not proposing right now, are you? No judgment or anything, I just want to clarify. Right?”

“Uh… only if you don’t want me to do right now?” Ning scrunches up his nose. “Is that right answer? Whatever doesn’t scare you from me. You know how I feel about you.”

Ryan shakes his head. This man. “Not that I don’t want… not that it’s off the table, but it’s just too soon, you know?”

Ning nods. “We have time.” He kisses Ryan. “Can I come to the five-year party?”

“I’d love that, but won’t you still be in Europe then?”

“I can shift my schedule to get a day or two free to come. I want to be there. Is important to you.”

“You know I always want you with me, but don’t feel obligated. If getting to come to the party means you’ll have, like, twenty hours of interviews a day or something, please don’t. I won’t hold it against you if you can’t make it. What else is on your schedule?”

“I finish in Europe middle of July. Then… well, I had similar idea to you; I did not take break these past few years and wanted to disappear for few months, think about how I will be forty this year and getting older but still by myself. I fully expected to need that time to… get over you after we part ways again,” Ning admits quietly. “My agent arranged my schedule so I don’t start any projects until October.” He fidgets. “I don’t want to presume, but…”

Ryan takes his hands in his. “Whatever you say, yes.”

Ning pauses and ducks his head, before it all tumbles out in a rush. “Even if I suggest you come meet my parents during my break?”

Ryan lifts Ning’s chin with a finger and gives him a soft peck. “Yes. If you want me to and not just because you think it’s fair, since you met mine.” He wraps his arms around Ning’s waist. “Though I also meant you should stay with me during your sabbatical.”

“Really?” Ning’s soft smile blossoms into a grin that takes over his whole face when Ryan nods animatedly, unable to contain his own excitement. “I can?”

“Yes, really.” Ryan kisses him again. “It’d be cheaper. That's the Chinese way, right? Save money?”

“Yes, Chinese way,” Ning laughs. “But don't need to convince, Ryan. I would love to.”

“And the parent thing… it's not just because you met mine, I hope.”

Ning shakes his head. “I want my parents to meet the man I love.”

Ryan looks away, cheeks tinged pink. “I’m never going to get tired of hearing you say that.”

“And I will never stop saying it,” Ning promises, but then he looks apprehensive.

“You okay?”

Ning sighs. “I just remember, I should call James back. He call me twice in morning.”

“About last night?”

He nods and scrubs his hand across his face. “I don’t want go back out there. Not because I regret, but because I know they will connect last night to seven years ago. They probably already writing about me cheat on girlfriend. She doesn’t deserve bad press. After, they will hunt your parents for information and invade privacy and search for past press about me with other men and out them, and I know you out but because of what I say last night they can stalk you and write about America corrupt you and make you gay and then you turn _me_ gay—”

Ryan stills Ning’s fidgeting hands. “Hey, hey! One thing at a time. You’ve only talked about being worried about how what you said yesterday will affect the people around you. How do _you_ feel about it?”

“I don’t know. I never did anything like this before. It felt right, to do it this way, kind of. Almost like compromise because I still have plausible deniability and…” He trails off, looking guilty.

“Ning, look at me. If you’re not ready, or if you don’t plan on ever coming out, that’s fine. No pressure. Whatever you’re comfortable with, okay?”

“But what about you? Affects you, too.”

“My issue seven years ago was that you wanted me to hide myself when I hadn’t been hiding for a long time, but you didn’t do that last night. You were upfront about me, even when you said we were friends, which was technically true at the time,” Ryan jokes. “I am comfortable with what you’re comfortable with, with acting like we’re just friends in public. _Continuing_ to act like, rather.”

“Are you sure is really okay?” Ning asks tentatively. “I know is a lot to ask of you.”

“I don’t think of it like that. Would you say me needing you to always speak to me in English a lot to ask of you?”

“Of course not. You are not fluent in Chinese.”

“And you aren’t out. There’s no… balance sheet to keep track of, you know? These are just some of the things we do in this relationship.” Ryan takes a deep breath and exhales. “I’m older now, and I’ve changed how I think about coming out. I grew up believing this narrative that you can only be happy if you’re out, hence why I said all that stuff last time—it’s not true, obviously. I’d been out for almost ten years when we first met, and I wasn’t happy because while I was out, I was still being criticized for not being Chinese enough by my family—criticized even _more,_ as a result—and for being too Chinese by everyone else. There was so much friction within me because of all that, but the gay media I was consuming didn’t show any of that, so I always thought I was just doing it wrong. ”

Ning kisses his neck gently, and most of the earlier tension leaves Ryan’s body.

“Also, realistically, I already said I was gay at that press conference seven years ago and at last night’s screening, so as long as you’re in the public eye, people will always wonder if we’re actually dating or if you’re just that amazing of an ally. Not to freak you out more, but it won’t be easy to stop them from speculating, so are you sure you want to be with me?”

“Of course,” Ning replies immediately, kissing him again. He pulls Ryan closer and rests his head on Ryan’s shoulder, letting out a sigh Ryan can feel the weight of, as airy as it is. “You have to understand—I’m not ashamed of you. Just… I grow up learning things like this that people think are abnormal is private matter, not something you talk about.” His grip on Ryan’s shirt tightens momentarily before loosening again. “With that and getting so famous that I am always recognized when I go outside in China, I hate saying any more about myself than I have to. I don’t want press prying in your life, either.”

“Yes, I understand. I know you’re not ashamed of me. I may not completely grasp the ramifications of you even saying as much as you did last night, but I don’t have to. And yeah, I’m going to be affected, but you’re going to bear the brunt of it, so again, stop apologizing for not being ‘ready.’ It’s okay, I promise. Just promise me if you ever _do_ feel like coming out—and not saying it’s inevitable because it’s entirely optional—you’d be coming out because you really want to, okay?” Ryan says earnestly, allowing himself one quick pause to kiss Ning’s ear because that’s all he can reach. “Not because you think I’d be happy or you think I want you to—I don’t, not if you have any reservations about it.” He pulls away slightly to cup Ning’s face in his hands and look into his eyes. “Promise me you’ll only ever come out, not for me, not for us, but for yourself, okay? You know what’s safest and most comfortable for you.”

Ning’s eyes widen; he looks floored. “You… really are okay with me not coming out.”

Ryan flushes red, chest heaving as he tries to get his breath back. “Of course. I’ll always support you.”

“We will talk out everything together before do anything,” Ning promises before his phone buzzes. After he glances at it, all the tension seems to fall out of his frame. “James just text me. He say most news outlets are positive about how I respond yesterday; maybe two or three say I still try look like good ally so my movie gets more attention.” He shrugs self-deprecatingly. “Look like your big speech for nothing.”

“Nah. I think you needed to hear it. I feel like you believe me now when I say I’m okay with it. Also, just, fuck that. You worked really hard on that movie. It’s so good you don’t _need_ gimmicks. Certainly nothing like _that_ to get more people to watch it.”

“I know.” Ning smiles. “But I love watching you defend it. And me. So heated. So passionate.”

Ryan leans forward for another kiss, even as their stomachs grumble really loudly.

“One last thing before I let you eat your food in peace,” Ryan says after they kiss, not moving away. Their foreheads are still pressed together. “Would you want to go to Janet’s wedding with me? As my date?”

“I would love to.”

“We can just pretend to go as friends or whatever you’re comfortable with. Especially since there’ll be people neither of us knows, and—”

“You don’t have to do that for me.”

“I want you to be comfortable.”

“I want for you, too. You say I know myself best, what is most comfortable. You are right; I want to stay private about my love life, but part of me wants to be… a little more open. I am not comfortable with whole world knowing, but the wedding… is okay, a controlled space. The company party, too.”

“Plus, if any pictures get out, they’ll all just talk about what a great ally you are.”

“Or how hard I pretend to be, haha. Lucky I don’t care about that.”

“Still. I’ll let Janet know we don’t want any attention on you because of that and also because, I mean, it’s her wedding. Her big day.”

“Yes. Now we eat?”

“Wait, wait, just one more thing, I promise,” Ryan says, hand on his arm. Ning growls jokingly, but stays put, hands still on Ryan’s hips. “When we go meet your parents, you’ll translate for me, right? You promise?”

“But of course. You very lucky I am too concerned about your image to deceive you about Chinese. ‘Pussy,’” Ning mutters. They laugh, and finally, _finally,_ Ryan releases them both to eat their now cold food.

—

The restaurant is far from empty, but still nice and quiet, other people’s conversations a soothing murmur around them. As the only sources of light in the intimate space, the candles on the tables and strategic corners soften the angles and edges of everything, even Ning’s lovely cheekbones.

Ryan waits until after the waiter leaves before turning to Ning. “We didn’t have to come back here; I know you don’t care for French food.”

“Didn’t,” Ning corrects. “After I went home, I miss you, so I try, see what is big deal. I like some.” He bumps his shoulder into Ryan’s gently. “See? I am learning, too.”

Ryan squeezes his hand under the table, even though no one’s looking. Very few people outside of New York’s Chinatowns recognize Ning, so no one takes special notice of just how close he’s sitting to another man in the fancy curved booth. They’re half an arm’s length apart, ankles touching. “Speaking of learning, this would be the perfect place to knock me out.”

“I already am, yes?”

Ryan rolls his eyes as Ning actually giggles. “I _meant,_ punch me for saying being gay is really easy nowadays when we were here the first time.”

“Why? You apologize, not say again. Good enough for me.”

After their food arrives, they’re quiet as they eat. Then, Ryan admits, “I like that we’re learning. Together and for each other.”

“Me, too,” Ning says, and they clink their wine glasses together. The petite sirah is amazing, as always.

—

Upon entering Ning’s suite after their date, Ryan closes the door with a gentle kick and pulls Ning closer by his wrists. “I had a good time tonight.”

Ning lets himself get pulled in and smiles. “You know, Chinese also eat snail.”

“Yeah?” Ryan hugs Ning to him, sticks his hands in the back pockets of Ning’s pants. “Maybe I’m not doomed to hate Chinese food forever after all,” he jokes.

Ning laughs and gives him a chaste kiss, before leaning back on the balls of his feet. “ _Maybe_ that can be our next date.” He smiles nervously. “Tomorrow?”

“I’d love that,” Ryan murmurs. It’s not lost on him that Ning getting recognized will be much likelier at a Chinese restaurant, that Ning’s serious about this time being different. “Tomorrow is perfect.”

—

About 5,201,314 results (0.25 seconds)

‘Now we get to show the world’: **Qi Xiaoning** receives warm welcome for new gay Chinese movie ‘ **The Same Wife** ’ in New York  
CNN - 10 hours ago  
‘ **The Same Wife** ’ won’t be released in the U.S. until August 2023, but as lead **Qi Xiaoning** makes his way across the country…

‘The situation is not ideal’: ‘ **The Same Wife** ’ actor **Qi Xiaoning** on ‘cooperative marriages’ in China  
NBCNews.com - 8 hours ago  
In China, where marriage is legal only between a man and a woman…

The Rumor Come Out: Does **Qi Xiaoning** is Gay? ‘ **The Same Wife** ’ Actor Give ‘Friend’ Scarf  
Clickgayt - 12 hours ago  
**Qi Xiaoning** is gay is the most discussed in the Chinese media in the few years ago. Even it has happened in 2015…

 **Qi Xiaoning** fought to be in **‘The Same Wife** ’ because he wanted to ‘prioritize’ stories of LGBT Chinese  
BBC News - 7 hours ago  
Several phone calls, three auditions, and one annoyed (eventually co-)director later, **Qi Xiaoning** found himself in the lead role of Liu Anhai, the hapless protagonist trapped in a loveless marriage…

‘Once I know what I want, I go after it’: ‘ **The Same Wife** ’ actor **Qi Xiaoning** is passionate about turning stories into movies  
Forbes - 4 hours ago  
Joining the ranks of Fan Bingbing, Jackie Chan, and Jet Li, **Qi Xiaoning** is quickly becoming a household name around the world…

 **Qi Xiaoning** says biggest challenge of playing gay protagonist in ‘ **The Same Wife** ’ is making sure the portrayal is respectful and sincere  
PinkNews - 15 hours ago  
Chinese actor **Qi Xiaoning** has been gaining international attention over the years for his charismatic, nuanced roles, but never before his new movie ‘ **The Same Wife** ’ has he played a gay character…

‘ **The Same Wife** ’ Actor **Qi Xiaoning** and Stylist Ryan Fu Are Bromance Goals  
Buzzfeed - 22 hours ago  
LISTEN UP. I AM ABOUT TO TELL YOU ABOUT THE GREATEST BROMANCE OF THE MODERN ERA. IT INVOLVES A STRAIGHT GUY WHO ISN’T AFRAID TO SHOW THE WORLD HOW MUCH HE LOVES HIS GAY BEST FRIEND. BYE ‘NO HOMO’ CHADS SAY HI TO MY ASIAN BROMANCE DADS!!!!!

Actor **Qi Xiaoning** Accused of Performative Allyship for ‘ **The Same Wife** ’: Friend Ryan Fu Sets Them Straight (Gay?)  
Daily Beast - 17 hours ago  
Stylist Ryan Fu of the FashionEASTas stepped up to defend **Qi Xiaoning** , who stars in ‘ **The Same Wife,’** from accusations that Qi reunited with Fu solely to create more buzz for the new gay-themed Chinese movie…

The Hurdles of Making a Gay Movie in China  
New York Times - 1 hour ago  
The fact that ‘ **The Same Wife** ,’ a movie about gay men and lesbians with a happy ending, was allowed to be made in China is no small thing. Now a familiar face in critically acclaimed modern Chinese cinema, **Qi Xiaoning** immediately knew that he had to be involved, so that he could tell the stories others not as privileged as he could not…

White privilege is Starlett Nocantsson taking one role from a marginalized group a year for the past five years, while **Qi Xiaoning** still can’t shake a homophobic remark he made years ago—despite making amends  
Vox - 6 hours ago  
Both have said and done things that they shouldn’t have. One has changed his views and uses his platform to amplify marginalized people’s voices. The other is Starlett Nocantsson.

‘I know I have been’: Actor **Qi Xiaoning** hopes gay Chinese movie ‘ **The Same Wife** ’ will inspire others to love and accept themselves  
Washington Post - 3 hours ago  
Watching ‘ **The Same Wife** ’ may seem daunting in its inaccessibility: the entire cast is Chinese, the whole movie is in Mandarin, and the plot explores the phenomenon of ‘cooperative marriages’ in mainland China—and yet, **Qi Xiaoning** , who plays the closeted gay protagonist, promises that the themes presented in ‘ **The Same Wife** ’ are universal. And you know what? He’s right…

—

Ning essentially moves in with Ryan for his last week in New York, and the next few days pass too quickly, in a haze of too long days and too short nights. Ryan treasures their quiet evenings spent recovering from the daytime chaos.

“Ryan?” Ning shouts from the bedroom.

Ryan looks up from where he’s been ironing a shirt in the living room. His vision is partially blocked by the door, but he can see Ning frowning at his suitcase. “Yeah?”

“Are all my shirts still in wash? I can’t find any.”

“You can borrow something from my closet. Just don’t pick something too tight because your shoulders will stretch it out.”

Ning disappears from his view for a moment, before reappearing in the doorway to his room. He can see Ning pressing a few shirts to his chest. “Huh. They fit. Do boyfriends just… share clothes like this? All the time?”

“Oh honey, that’s gay culture for you.” Ryan shifts his attention back to his ironing. When Ning doesn’t respond, he calls out, “You okay?”

Ning comes into the living room, wearing one of Ryan’s shirts. “You say… honey.”

“Yeah. Was that okay, or…”

Ning blushes, which is definitely an answer.

Ryan grins. “You gonna also call me names, honey?”

“How about something easy first: bǎobèi (宝贝). _Treasure,_ in Mandarin.” Ning smirks back.

“Something _easy?_ Like I can’t handle—” Ryan thinks back to how Ning managed to sneak-ask him into being his boyfriend. “You know what, you’re right. Something easy to start off with because we’re going slow, and I can’t handle you being _too_ smooth right off the bat.”

Ning reddens again. “You… turn it back on me. I get you back later.” He goes back into Ryan’s bedroom. “Can I also borrow socks? I have formal ones for suits, but not jogging.”

“Middle drawer.” He resumes ironing and gets into such a good groove that he doesn’t realize until halfway through a fifth shirt that Ning’s been quiet for a while. He turns off the iron and heads over to him. “You find—oh.”

When Ryan reaches his room, he sees Ning’s profile, head bent forward to study something in his hands. It takes Ryan a hot second to realize Ning found the photos of himself Gus took seven years ago.

Ning looks up, face neutral. He says nothing.

Ryan laughs sheepishly, hands raised in defense. “You’re a good-looking man, Ning. That’s all I’m saying.”

Ning places the photos on the nightstand and walks over, taking Ryan’s hands in his.

“Bǎobèi,” Ning says softly, face finally breaking out into a smile. He sounds as delighted as when he first uncovered Ryan’s tattoo. Then they fall onto the bed, and their plans to go jogging together fly right out the window.

—

It’s Reese’s first day out of the house by herself, and Ryan catches her checking her phone a dozen times in five minutes. She’s not officially back to work yet and shows him all the pictures her in-laws take of Sky, so he doesn’t call her out on it.

Reese elbows Ryan during a lull in the shoot. “I notice the boyfriend isn’t here today.”

“He had to go to Boston for an interview. He’s hitting all of New England today and tomorrow, so he won’t be coming back tonight, either.”

“But he always came back the same day before, like back when he had to go to _Atlanta,_ didn’t he?”

“Yes,” Ryan agrees hesitantly because he knows where this is going.

“And you’re not fighting…”

“No. Things are fine.”

“So why…”

“Well, Ning flies out to Chicago in a few days, and we decided in order to get used to that longer separation, and to also focus on our jobs better, we would practice by going a night apart,” Ryan says as diplomatically as possible. Then he adds, “Just one, because we really do want to make the most of our time left together.”

“Your dick’s been chafing, hasn’t it.” Reese smirks. “You guys are ridiculous.”

“Shut up,” Ryan hisses. “Yes. Yes, it has. It’s been really difficult keeping our hands off each other, so we’re going cold turkey for one night. My back hurts, Reese. _So much._ ”

Reese cackles so hard that she starts coughing and interrupts the shoot. Ryan glares at her because _where is her sympathy?_ But then he joins in because it _is_ ridiculous, and he loves every second of it.

—

At Mom’s insistence, Ning and Ryan come over for a jzong-making session and dinner before Ning leaves for the West Coast. She sits them down in the living room to teach them how to make them, and the four of them pass the afternoon like that. Ryan has about a year’s experience on Ning, but Ning holds his own, packing the rice, peanuts, and preserved meat into the leaves and wrapping the jzong more neatly than Ryan after two hours of practice, mostly because Ning is far more patient about shaping the jzong right.

“You know how the reason we celebrate Dragon Boat Festival is because this poet drowned himself in a river, so people threw jzong into the water to keep fish from disturbing his body?” Ryan asks Ning, after his parents go to the kitchen to start preparing dinner. He finishes tying up the jzong and passes the scissors to Ning, who helps him cut the string.

“Yes, but not the only one. Many versions.”

“Yeah, I know, but like, I read this interesting thing that Dragon Boat Festival is sometimes considered a Gay Valentine’s Day? Because the poet might’ve thrown himself into the river after he was rejected by the king he was in love with? Do you know anything about this?”

Ning hums thoughtfully. “Remind me to look into later. Very interesting. I tell you after I learn more.”

They’re quiet for a moment before Ryan nudges him again. “Enjoying the winning-over-my-parents part of the Boyfriend Experience?”

Ning chuckles. “Immensely. Your mom asked me my favorite food, and now she made winter melon for me. Also, I saw five pictures of us so far. Include the one of us and your Mama.”

“Winter melon… how do you say that in Mandarin? And really? I counted seven.” Ryan clears his throat. “They put that one out immediately after developing it, but they hid it after you… yeah. Because I kept, um, avoiding it.” He shrugs apologetically. “But you’re back now, so…”

“Dōngguā.” Ning squeezes his hand. “Remind me to ask for copy later. Where are others?”

“You missed the ones right when we came in, probably. Dōngguā,” Ryan repeats, trying it out. “It’s the same as in Cantonese, I think. Same tones and everything. There might be hope for me yet.”

“You give yourself too little credit.” Ning finishes off one last jzong and calls out toward the kitchen, “Auntie, Uncle, don’t forget, when you come back, I teach everyone how to make _my_ zòngzi!”

Mom ends up being the best student out of all of them. Dad and Ryan are unceremoniously banished to the kitchen and demoted to steaming the jzong while Mom and Ning continue making them in the living room, their conversation audible but not discernible. Ryan leans against the counter, watching the steam rise from the pot.

Dad sits down at the kitchen table. “I am sorry, Ryan.”

“For what? You didn’t do anything.”

Dad looks weary. “I am not good father. Too strict, too unaccepting. But in spite… you grow up good. Hardworking, respectful, caring. You work long hours and start own company. Do so much but for so long I only care you not like women.”

“Dad—”

“You do so much,” Dad repeats, waving him off, “but for long time I only focus on flaws—what I use to see as flaws. Like you being gay. And I worry… because before I always say gay is problem, you not let yourself date, only work.”

“Come on, Dad…”

“No nice. Be honest.” Dad is trembling, and Ryan’s heart hurts. “I hurt you like this for long time, right?”

Ryan stares at the floor, heart breaking for both himself and Dad. He wrings his hands as he thinks about the nights he’d be too tired to keep working but too wired to sleep—the only times he ever let himself acknowledge Dad’s discomfort with him being gay still cut deep into him, even though he’s been out to his family for… almost half his life, now. The only times he ever let himself wonder if a successful career would soften the blow for Dad, make him proud of Ryan despite him being— _despite._ The only times he ever let himself _cry_ over Dad’s love for him, over how it stung as it dug into him as it was, tempered with gruffness and sharpened with disappointment, spikes of disapproval clinging to his skin long after slicing through.

“Ryan,” Dad says quietly, “please.”

Ryan sighs, playing with a nearby dish towel. It’s worn thin after years of use, and yet his parents still insist on keeping it. “I mean, I didn’t date for a long time because I really _did_ have to put in a lot of time for the company.” When Dad lets out a sigh of his own, Ryan admits, “But also, like, after me and Ning split the first time, I didn’t feel like dating again because him leaving really hurt me, so the working a lot was also to distract myself.” He folds the dish towel in thirds and lays it back down on the counter. “So while it wasn’t _completely_ because of you that I didn’t date, you did… make it easier to justify working over dating.”

Dad nods, eyes sad. “I failed you. I am sorry. I love you, I love all of you.”

Heart breaking even more, Ryan hugs him, a bit awkwardly, because Dad’s still in the chair and Ryan’s half-standing, half-crouching. “I love you, too, Dad. Thank you for telling me.”

“So long I too scared tell you I love you, but I worry you not know.”

“Of course I know,” Ryan says soothingly, rubbing his back. Dad has started crying a little, and Ryan’s heart shatters completely. “You do so much for me—how could I not know? Plus, you accepted me being gay a long time ago. Of course I know. I love you so much.”

Dad wipes his eyes. “He treat you better than first time?”

Ryan nods. “He loves me.”

“You love him?”

“Yeah, but I haven’t told him yet.” He leans against the counter again, hands in his pockets. “Too scared, I guess.”

“If can tell Dad, can tell boyfriend,” Dad says matter-of-factly, before his tone turns hopeful, “and husband, I hope.”

“We’re not talking about that for a while yet, but we’re… not ruling it out,” Ryan concedes, blushing.

With that, Dad is Dad again, a knowing gleam in his eye. “Lifetime to cool down. Dad not know a lot, but always right about you two.”

“Yeah,” Ryan agrees. “Always.”

The jzong are finished cooking by then, and the moment breaks when Dad starts fishing them out of the pot and Ryan starts ladling out soup for everyone. But… he feels settled, more rooted, which apparently shows because Ning sends him a questioning glance when they sit down for dinner. Ryan only shakes his head, a promise to tell him later.

They each eat a jzong for dinner, along with some of Mom’s best—Ryan’s favorite fish steamed in a wok, pork belly, Chinese okra (“See gwa?” Ryan asks; “That means _watermelon,_ no?” Ning replies), lotus root, and mashed taro with roast duck.

“You send me recipe for taro and duck on WeChat, right?” Ning asks Mom.

“Only if you give recipe for your jzong.”

“Deal.” Ning solemnly shakes her hand before they start cracking up. “I will—” His phone rings. He looks at the screen and stops smiling. “Excuse me, sorry.”

Ryan watches Ning’s shoulders stiffen as he walks to the kitchen, phone to his ear. “I’ll check on him. Be right back.”

Ning is facing the window when Ryan comes in. His voice sounds weary. When Ryan slowly wraps his arms around Ning’s waist from behind, Ning covers Ryan’s hands with one of his, squeezing it tight, and continues speaking in Mandarin quietly. Ryan plays with Ning’s fingers as he waits. He can’t understand what Ning’s saying, but whoever it is speaks just as quietly, so Ryan imagines their conversation can’t be going too badly.

“好吧，好吧，再见,” Ning says, before hanging up. _[“Okay, okay, bye.”]_

Ryan kisses Ning’s ear. “Who was that?”

Ning leans his head back, against Ryan. “My parents.”

“Why were they calling?”

“I tell them I was having dinner with you and your family again, and they want to know how it’s going.” Ning laughs, a blush creeping up his neck. “My mother shove my father three times to wake him.”

“Oh right, time zones.” He squints at the clock. 6 p.m. “Early.”

Ning shrugs. “They worry. They want to know if you and me are okay, if your parents still like me.” He exhales. “It’s first time they ask me about dating since I came out to them, and they talk almost like when I was with Miao.”

Hesitantly, Ryan asks, “Are you okay?”

Ning nods. “I am. They say nothing too bad. Come, let’s go back. I tell you all together.”

They share a kiss and return to the dinner table.

Ning addresses Mom directly. “You are right. It does take time. My parents call me, say they saw pictures of me and Ryan. They say they not understand completely but we look happy and is enough for them.”

Dad places his hand on Ning’s arm. “If they give you more trouble, we talk to them, okay? We help you.”

Ning clears his throat, but he’s still hoarse. “Thank you, Uncle and Auntie. That means a lot. Uh… 唔該晒？Did I say right?” _[“Thank you so much” in Cantonese]_

“Yes, very good,” Dad says approvingly.

“Alright, sorry to break this up, but I think it’s time we bring out the cake, don’t you?” Ryan checks his phone. “We have an early day tomorrow.”

“Cake?” Ning furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “For what?”

“Your very good movie, of course!” Mom exclaims, clearing a spot on the table.

As Ryan brings out the cake—a fancy jasmine tea mille-crepe thing Nora helped him order from Lady M—and cuts generous slices for everyone, including himself, Ning raises an eyebrow. “I thought you say no carbs?”

“Well, I mean, now that we’re together, I don’t have to put in that much effort anymore, right? Because I already have you?” Ryan teases. “I’m kidding. I mean, I’m accepting that having _some_ carbs isn’t the end of the world.”

“Good. I like you however you look, but you are too strict about what you eat,” Ning says.

“You work too much, so too skinny,” Dad admonishes. “You need eat more.”

“Especially Chinese food,” Mom adds.

Ryan sighs exaggeratedly, everything in his heart threatening to spill out because never did he think he’d see his parents _and_ boyfriend ganging up on him. “This was a mistake,” he complains, but he’s laughing.

—

After Ryan pulls out, he drops his entire weight on top of Ning, sweat and all. Grinning, he pants, “See? I can do slow. Not like sand at all, huh?”

Ning glares at him, which, fair, considering Ryan just fucked— _teased_ —him for the better part of an hour after an already torturously long blowjob. When Ryan just keeps laughing, high on endorphins, Ning shoves him. Ryan isn’t expecting it, though, so he ends up falling off the bed.

To his credit, Ning _does_ extend a hand to him, but Ryan is too tired to make the journey, so with a yank, Ning is unceremoniously dropped on top of him. Ning yelps. “That _hurt._ ”

“You big baby. I cushioned your fall after _you_ pushed _me._ ”

“Only because you tease for so long.”

“Only because you keep doing it to me first. I didn’t realize going Slow As Fuck was such a _thing_ for you.”

Ning rolls his eyes. “I use to do this in secret and not very often. Only natural to want prolong moment, especially with man I love. Come on, let’s go back to the bed. More comfortable.”

“No, no, let’s just stay here. We can get a second mattress, and it’ll be great. After we have sex on one mattress, we can cuddle on the other, instead of having to change the sheets immediately.”

Ning looks at Ryan with a fond smile that says, _You’re being American again, but I still love you._ He hasn’t yet realized Ryan knows what it means. “That would not work. What if we have sex on one, then other, but don’t change sheets for either?”

“…a third mattress?”

“How about this: I change after, so you don’t have to.”

“But then where would I go while you’re doing that?”

“Doesn’t take that long!”

Ryan stretches contentedly under Ning. “But you know me—once I’ve come, all I want to do is cuddle with my man.”

Ning snorts. “Yes, I know.”

“Okay, new rule: no dragging me while we’re still in the middle of things.”

Ning looks at him pointedly because they’re still in their honeymoon period; most days they’re still good to ~~come~~ go a second time. “ _Are_ we?”

“What did I _just_ say,” Ryan complains, but they’re both laughing. As soon as they get their breath back, though, Ning gets on top of him and rides him into the carpet.

—

They do get back on the bed eventually. Ning kisses Ryan’s tattoo again and lies down, closing his eyes.

Ryan watches Ning’s chest rise and fall for a few seconds, still not used to how _right_ Ning looks here, with sex-mussed hair and a serene smile on his face, naked and slightly sweaty, in his bed. He looks so much like he did _that night_ seven years ago, right before succumbing to sleep—when Ryan had fallen in love with him even more right then and there, completely convinced he’d be seeing Ning’s face like that for many more nights to come.

Tonight isn’t the first time Ryan’s seen it since Ning came back, he realizes. They _have_ had, maybe not many, but certainly quite a few, of _those_ nights, when they would be drifting off to sleep and Ryan would struggle to stay awake just long enough to watch the lines of Ning’s face smooth out into a smile before curling up into his side, Ning’s arm wrapping around him immediately. Then Ning would press a kiss to his forehead and whisper _I love you,_ not because he didn’t want Ryan to hear it, but because he loved Ryan’s full-body shiver as the words made their way across Ryan’s skin, the kiss Ryan would then press to his shoulder, Ryan’s own smile growing against him.

Ryan turns toward him, propping his head up with his elbow. The sheets rustle as he moves, drowning out his shaky exhalation. “So, like, I never watched that much Chinese TV—and most of what I did was Hong Kong TV—but that was where I learned about curse words and other things my parents didn’t really talk to me about, including love.” He clears his throat, a little surprised by how confident he feels. “So that’s where I learned how to say it. It’s also why I grew up thinking it was a quiet secret you tell only your lover. Something you only say in the middle of the night, when no one else can hear it.”

Ning must sense the gravity in his tone because he sits up halfway. “What is it?” he asks quietly.

Ryan leans in, looking straight into Ning’s eyes. He sees no fear, which he knows is mirrored in his own. “Wǒ ài nǐ (我爱你),” Ryan says, just as quietly.

Ning’s smile grows despite himself. It’s such a beautiful thing that the only thing Ryan can do is fall even more in love with him. The concern clearly superficial because Ning has already pulled him into his arms to bury his smile into Ryan’s neck, Ning asks, muffled, “Are you sure? Not just because I say it first?”

“ _So_ sure, Ning. I’ve known that for a long time,” he confesses. For so long, his love for him weighed him down. Now, it’s both anchoring and freeing at once. “Wǒ ài nǐ. Even though you always take my parents’ side.”

Ning kisses him. “Wǒ ài nǐ. Even though you haven’t eaten mooncake in many years.”

“See? There you go again. When did Mom tell you that?”

“We are WeChat friends, remember?”

“Oh yeah. I keep forgetting to ask when you guys added each other.”

“When we eat dimsum. Your mom say you never check except to send her audio messages.”

“To be fair, she doesn’t read English well, and I can’t read Chinese at all, so. It works out.”

They kiss again. “Will you say again? In Cantonese this time,” Ning asks, almost whispering.

“Ngo oi leih,” Ryan says, a little uncertain, paying careful attention to his tones.

“Ngo oi leih,” Ning repeats, copying his tones. He smirks. “Even though you always work too hard.”

“Oh my _god,_ ” Ryan says exasperatedly, and shoves him.

Unlike Ryan, Ning is ready for it; he grabs Ryan and pulls him down, too.

“ _Oof._ Why are we always falling off this bed? _Clearly,_ we need a bigger one.”

“Or you could just stop shove me. That would be Chinese way.”

Ryan looks at him skeptically. “You’re just making that up.”

“Well, American way is to spend, spend, spend—always waste money on bigger things—so obviously my way is Chinese way. No shoving, don’t need another bed, save money, therefore Chinese way.”

“Yes, _bigger_ things.” Ryan waggles his eyebrows to make Ning laugh. “How about this, the new Chinese American way: we get a bigger bed _and_ stop shoving each other.”

“Just sounds like excuse to waste money,” Ning grumbles, kissing his nose anyway.

—

Two days later, Mom and Dad pay Ryan a visit at the office while they’re in the middle of a photo shoot for _Culture Chic._

“Oh hey, what are you guys doing here?” Ryan asks, as he signals for everyone to take a break.

“I bring you char siu and also finish quilt for Sky.” Mom hands him two bags. “You help me give when you free.”

Ryan peeks inside the bag with the quilt as he takes it. “It’s so pretty! You really outdid yourself, Mom.”

He then has his parents and Ning follow him to the kitchen for tea and matcha egg tarts. Instead of plugging in his electric water boiler, though, Ryan grabs a kettle he just bought the other day and places it on the stove.

As they sip their tea, Dad asks, “Electric one broken?”

“Nah. I just appreciate the time it takes to boil water now, you know? Everything comes in its own time,” Ryan says casually. Dad beams, and Ning chokes on his tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're moving on to end of may/june, so next up are: janet and damien's wedding, ryan's france trip, and nyc pride!
> 
> p.s. u ever think abt that time in the movie when they were eating at the french restaurant, CHILLIN IN A BOOTH FIVE FEET APART BC THEY'RE BOTH GAY AS FUCK :C


	6. fix it together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I… used to make myself sad thinking we never meant to be because of our names. Fu and Qi, fūqī (夫妇). _Husband and wife._ See? Silly.”
> 
> “Oh, honey.” This time, when Ryan tries to separate after the brief second considered appropriate for hugs between two straight men, Ning doesn’t let go. “From what I’ve learned about Chinese, it’s that there are way too many words with the same damn pronunciation.” Still in Ning’s embrace, he opens Pleco on his phone, propping his phone up on Ning’s shoulder. “If you switch it to _qifu,_ we get qīfù (欺负), which apparently means _bully._ Fitting for how you treated me at the beginning,” Ryan teases, earning himself a ruffle of his hair. At least it’s not a shove, but he moves away anyway.
> 
> “Not exactly encouraging, Ryan.”
> 
> “Qǐfú (起伏). _Rise and fall._ Qìfù (弃妇). _Abandoned wife._ ” Ryan pauses in his scrolling. “Okay, I’m starting to see what you mean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again frigay!!!!!! this upgayte covers end of may and then approx all of june
> 
> \- link to masterpost: [here](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/tagged/behind-the-scenes-masterpost)
> 
> \- link to notes: [[collapsible version](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/behindthescenes)] // [[non-collapsible (long) version](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/behindbehindthescenes)] 
> 
> \- link to reblog: [here](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/tagged/behind-the-scenes-6)
> 
> \- link to gaylist: [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLtStoH71eEUsdLEBRosaLNTcCKQ4dlULX)
> 
> \- no quick notes this time, but check the notes for some commentary surrounding ryan's last name (why i think it's interesting that it's been romanized the way it's been romanized) and why i think his family has some toisanese roots. oh and also to see how/when this fic originally was going to end!

Janet and Damien’s wedding is on Long Island, in what was supposedly a steel foundry at some point. Not that Ryan can tell—it just looks like the rustic woodland wedding Janet’s been dreaming of since before Ryan met her. It’s almost enough to make him forget Ning’s flight to Chicago is tomorrow morning.

Almost.

He cries when Janet’s dad walks her down the aisle. He cries when Damien and Janet exchange wedding vows, first in English, then in Spanish for Damien’s family, and finally in Hebrew for Janet’s. He cries when Janet Levine becomes Janet Pérez. When he’s not outright crying, his eyes are damp. All throughout, Ning is strong and silent next to him, discreetly handing him a tissue whenever he needs it.

After Janet and Damien’s first dance, a waltz that has them gliding across the floor while gazing adoringly into each other’s eyes, they call for everyone to come and dance. Ning stands up, holding his hand out to Ryan, and they dance together in a secluded corner, swaying slowly to the music. Out of the corner of Ryan’s eye, he can see Lakey, Janet, and Damien all dancing together, Dex with his boyfriend and girlfriend in a similar formation, Reese and Nora, Elle and Hui Wen, everyone’s parents…

The entire ceiling is made of glass, and the night sky is dark, the new moon invisible. Orbs radiating warm light illuminate the space, an adequate substitute for the stars they drown out. All around them, people are laughing, talking, connecting, as they move with each other, lost in each other’s arms. It’s a perfect moment, which makes him only too aware it’ll soon be ending.

Ryan begs off more dancing after another song, giving Ning a hug instead of a kiss, just to be safe. Ning lets him go without so much as a smile or squeeze of a hand, but he doesn’t think too much on it. He meanders until he locates the drinks and grabs the first one he sees, taking a sip as he watches Ning pull Mom into his arms for a waltz. He’s tempted to record it because Mom’s practically _swooning,_ but Ning leaving is getting to him, so he just sneaks off to a thankfully empty alcove with his drink for some air instead.

Leaning his elbows on the windowsill, Ryan gulps down more of what turns out to be some kind of peachy champagne, knowing he’s blowing Ning’s—temporary—departure out of proportion. Not that he’s afraid Ning won’t come back, but…

He’s spent so many— _too_ many—years without Ning, but now that Ning’s back in his life, he doesn’t know how he ever managed without. He can’t help that he wants to wake up to Ning’s gentle kiss to his tattoo every morning; to cook alongside him as they reintroduce Chinese food to Ryan’s palate, in order to figure out which foods he actually likes but stopped eating due to racist bullying; to putter around the(ir) apartment in just a towel after showering, just because he likes to watch Ning lose focus; to be near Ning all the time, preferably draped all over him or held in his strong, welcoming arms; to fall asleep talking about and relishing their plans for tomorrow, no matter how mundane—because now there always _is_ a tomorrow, with each other.

He can’t help that he’s gotten used to the routine, to how easily Ning fits in his life. He can’t help that he’s gotten used to the way Ning loves him, nice and easy, and to the way he no longer has to fight himself about loving him right back. He just can’t help that he wants to be doing this for a long while—though if he’s _really_ being honest with himself, he wants to do this for the rest of—

_Oh._

He nearly chokes on his drink. Not because the concept is entirely new, but because he already knew that. Knew that he’s wanted Ning in his life for a long time, if not always, since their first kiss—the one after the critic screening, yes, but the one seven years ago, too. _Oh._

But they can’t—they haven’t even been together for _two weeks,_ and he knows he only has marriage on the brain because of Janet’s wedding, but the image his mind conjured up the night of their (second) first kiss keeps popping up in his dreams.

Besides, Ning’s clearly been thinking about it, too—he’s the one who brought it up during brunch. Literally hours after they got together, even.

And what Dad said…

“Not too shabby, right?”

Ryan startles and turns around. “Shouldn’t you be dancing? You’re the bride.”

Janet shrugs, the silk of her wedding gown whispering with the movement of her shoulders. It’s a soft white thing with little flowers interwoven throughout, topped off with a sweetheart neckline. He and Reese had personally presented her with it right after Damien proposed to her last year, and she looks heavenly in it—she’s _glowing,_ literally radiating bliss out of her pores. “I wanted to check on you.”

“I’m fine. You look beautiful.” He gives her a quick hug, both of them teary-eyed. “I can’t believe it. You’re married!”

“I am!” She wipes her eyes, her smile bright. “I came out here to thank you.”

“For what?”

“You helped me out so many times! Babysat Lakey whenever I needed it, so I could get my cosmetology license; let her go to your parents’ nail salon after school, even though you didn’t want people to know about your parents’ job; pretended to be my husband, so fucking Sewell would stop looking down on me for being a single mom…”

“Yeah, I don’t think he really bought it, until Damien started going instead?”

“It’s the haircut, Ryan. The—”

“The Lesbian Haircut, I know. Reese has _got_ to stop telling people about that because they never see it until _after_ she points it out.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, you do realize what I did was nothing in comparison to you, right? You’ve been doing all the hard work.”

“Still. I would’ve never been able to handle it without you being right there with me, you know?” She nudges him over with a hip and looks out the window with him. They watch Damien do the robot, Lakey shove him before hiding her face in embarrassment. “You’re practically Lakey’s uncle.”

“Oh, _definitely_ not. I’m, like, that uncle’s kid brother at best.”

“You give yourself too little credit,” Janet murmurs. “You’re great with kids.”

“ _Now,_ ” Ryan corrects, “and only because Lakey faced the brunt of my mistakes during much of her childhood. Remember when Lakey got her first period while I was babysitting her? I was Googling pads and trying to explain the pictures in the diagrams while she was in the bathroom. That was only two years ago!”

Janet cracks up so much that her eyes start tearing. She wipes at them quickly, before the tears can smudge her makeup. “You’re great with kids _now,_ ” she agrees, watching how he keeps looking out toward the clearing, “and you’re also distracted. Thinking about your lover boy?”

“Yeah. I needed some air earlier, but now I miss him,” Ryan admits. “Anyway, you don’t need to thank me for anything. I did all that for you guys because I love you and Lakey. You’re my family, okay? I’d do anything for you.”

Janet hugs him tight and kisses him on the cheek. “I love you, too. That’s why I’m ordering you to go over to the gazebo because Ning is there, making moony eyes at his drink. I don’t know how we managed to choose a venue with so many spots perfect for rom-com moments, but you might as well take advantage of it. Also, he promised me _Unchained Melody,_ and I need you to get him to the stage soon.”

Ryan laughs, hugging her one more time before he sets off.

Ning’s back is to him when he arrives, no one else to be seen. Ryan’s eyes roam his back, eager to memorize every shadow, every crease of his bright navy tuxedo, before he leaves, even though he knows he’ll be seeing Ning again soon enough.

He’d thought he’d be able to refocus on the present at the sight of Ning, but that tux…

“Hey,” Ryan calls out as he gets closer, which is when he realizes Ning is hunched over, shoulders rigid and spine curled forward, knuckles white from gripping the ledge so tightly. Like he’s been hurt. Ryan leans over the ledge like Ning, bumping their shoulders together. “You okay?”

Ning doesn’t look up, just stares at the grass surrounding the gazebo. He doesn’t reply for so long that Ryan almost thinks Ning didn’t hear him, but then—“I’m sorry for give you false hope seven years ago. For make you believe we could have future together if you just leave your home here and went to China with me.”

Ryan leans back slightly, turning to face Ning. He watches Ning inhale shakily despite his stoic demeanor. “What brought this on?”

Ning lifts his head, staring almost aggressively straight ahead at the stringed lights and trimmed shrubs. “I convince you that you and I can be together in Beijing, then break your heart. Miao was my girlfriend, but I cheat on her. I say gay is abnormal to press, and you still help me. After… after everything, why do you still want me?”

“Do _you_ still want _me?_ ”

Ning nods miserably. It’s clear to Ryan, then, that Ning has been ruminating on this for a while.

“Ning, why didn’t you tell me you were feeling like this?” Ryan asks quietly, knowing the answer as soon as he does—why ruin what little is left of their time together, especially when every moment has been so perfect, when they’ve—Ryan’s—been so happy? His heart splits cleanly in the middle at seeing Ning’s pain, and he’s frustrated with himself for daydreaming too much, for not seeing it earlier.

“I always want you. But I did so much bad, and I am afraid because… what if I hurt you again this time? What if someone finds out, and I take out on you again? And…” Ning’s voice trembles. “We are out of each other’s lives again? For good? No happy ending, no third chances.”

“Ning, as long as you still love me as much as I love you, as long as you’re still trying to make things right, as long as you still want to meet me halfway, I’ll give you all the chances in the world. Fifth, sixth, seventh chances,” Ryan vows, “just not a fourth.”

Ning gives him a sad smile. “Easy to say that now. You have to know this, Ryan. I don’t trust myself to not hurt you again. I can’t—what if—”

Ryan takes Ning’s hand. “We’ve been over this—we’re not the same people we were seven years ago. We’ve apologized to each other again and again, and you’ve accepted all of me—what can I do to help you trust me more, so you believe and _know_ that I accept all of you, too?”

“I _do_ believe you. Just… Watching Janet and Damien exchange vows is a happy thing, but… I was remind of all times everyone press me about marrying Miao. And then I think about how I hate myself so much after breakup because once I was single, everything that made being with you seem so impossible suddenly seem like nothing. I sabotage myself, my chance to be happy with you. Because we could be together so much earlier.” Ning shakes his head. “So much wasted time. Sabotaging myself, I can live with, but I cause you so much pain, too. That is worst of all.”

“Bold of you to assume you were the only one in our way,” Ryan retorts. “About you giving me false hope… no offense, but you’re giving yourself too much credit. I played my own part in dreaming about a future with you and getting caught up in it, in assuming anything that could come up would just need a quick, lazy fix and then things would be okay again.”

He inches closer to Ning, remembers that while Janet’s wedding is a private event, the gazebo is still a relatively open space, and goes back to leaving a few inches of distance between them.

“I think seven years ago, you were just as infatuated with me as I was with you. I think… the Ning from seven years ago imagined a life together with me, but was afraid by how much he wanted that life. So when that magazine published that photo of us, it was a wake-up call—that that life isn’t possible, not for someone like you seven years ago. And then that fear led him to react poorly when that magazine published that photo of us. But I understand that reaction.” Ryan exhales. “We were _both_ hurting, Ning. I know that. Why don’t you?”

Ning looks away. “I just…”

“When I wasn’t crying over my broken heart, I was crying over you being alone even though you were home, over you never being able to be yourself with anyone, over you always having to look over your shoulder,” Ryan admits quietly. “I was crying over how lonely you must have been, never knowing when next you could share a moment with someone who knew the real you. Even if you never came back, even if we never talked again, even if we never made up, I just wanted you to find love again. To fall in love with someone who loves you as you are.”

“You have to know I was the same,” Ning says just as quietly, before shakily joking, “though I must admit I did get jealous at the thought of you with another man.”

Ryan laughs. “ _God,_ me too.” Then, quietly, “I don’t regret you, okay? Never have and never will.”

They’re silent for a long moment, watching nearby fireflies twinkle in and out of plain sight.

Finally, shaking his head, Ning says, “You are too kind to me.” Then, practically whispering, “I wish I was as brave as you. Things would be so different.”

“I’m honest,” Ryan says because it’s the truth. “I think Janet’s wedding made you sad about our seven years apart, and—I’ll be honest about this as well—I’m sad, too. I could have lived more of my life being loved by you, you incredible man, but the thing is, I also got in our way.”

“Not as much as me.” Ning looks down at his hands.

Ryan squeezes his hand, and Ning finally looks at him, albeit briefly. He looks haunted, and Ryan has to wrestle against his urge to just curl up around Ning and keep the outside world away from him. “It’s not a contest, and I’m telling you this because we were _both_ responsible for how things turned out back then. Not equally, because there’s no way to objectively measure and compare—just differently.” He sighs, unclenching the fist he’s held tight around something he’s known about himself for years. “I was all-or-nothing about you coming out, and no matter how much we felt for each other back then, it wouldn’t have been enough to save our relationship, which was already deteriorating because we barely knew each other back then.”

“So you are saying we didn’t have a chance.” Ning’s smile is sad.

“I’m saying we weren’t _ready._ ” Ryan sips his drink. “I don’t think we would’ve worked out if we had gotten together earlier. I know who I was back then. The secrecy of our relationship would’ve made me insecure, and I would’ve given you some kind of ultimatum to either come out or break up.”

“You wouldn’t have—”

Ryan shakes his head. “Let’s not sugarcoat it—I know I would have because at the time, I believed being out guaranteed happiness; people always say being out means living authentically, living your best life. But what they don’t tell you is that you can lose so much, too, to the point where you don’t sleep for _months,_ always wondering if it was worth it.” He exhales shakily. “My family didn’t speak to me for a whole year after I came out, and it was one of the worst times of my life. For one whole year, I lost access to what little Chinese culture I was comfortable having in my life—that was when I saw a glimpse of my all-too-possible future after everyone else in my family was gone. I thought, fine, whatever. Not like I cared. But I felt the hole in my life anyway.”

“Oh, Ryan.” Ning takes his hand and kisses it. “Bǎobèi, I’m sorry.”

“Honey, if you don’t stop apologizing, I’ll… I won’t break up with you, but there _will_ be consequences,” Ryan threatens with no heat.

“Sor—” Ning begins to say, and Ryan glares at him. Ning closes his mouth ruefully.

“The older I get, the more I hate the assumption that coming out is a necessary prerequisite for happiness. When I was still closeted, even though my parents disapproved of _a lot_ of things about me, I knew I could still go to them whenever I needed. When I came out to them, I lost that, and while I eventually found my own space in the gay community, it wasn’t the same. I had lost my home.” Ryan taps his fingers on the ledge. “Coming out _can_ bring you happiness, but that’s only if you’re welcomed _in_ somewhere else. If you come out and don’t have anyone or anywhere to go for support… it’s hard to be happy.” He finishes off his drink and steals Ning’s. “Being apart for seven years before getting the chance to try again is a long time, but I really think now is the time. We’ve both grown so much and are so different from who we were back then. I love you. Seven years ago, after you left, I thought I’d never see you again. But now you’re back, and I’m not wasting another second crying about the past when you’re here in front of me.”

Ning stands up straight, takes half a step forward. Their eyes meet, and Ning’s breath is shuddery, but he has a small smile on his face. Ryan opens his arms, and Ning steps into them immediately. “I love you, too. I’m sorry I keep… we talk about this so much already.”

“Don’t be sorry. I want to make sure you are confident about how I feel about you, about us—I’m sorry myself, for not noticing earlier. Besides, I’m going to be feeling insecure about us real soon, when you go off to Chicago and leave me to eat all the leftovers Mom and Dad keep giving me by myself, so—you know. You’ll be doing this for me again soon enough.” His face is burning, but he still makes eye contact with Ning after they separate. “I’m going to miss you so much.”

“I miss you so much, too. I will have Wi-Fi on plane; I plan to spend whole time texting you on WeChat, so you better learn how to use fast.”

“I will,” Ryan promises, linking their pinkies together. “Anything else I can help make seven-years-ago Ning feel better about, so present-day Ning can be kinder to him?”

“Maybe stop referring to me like I am two different people because is confusing?” Ning wrinkles his nose. “I… used to make myself sad thinking we never meant to be because of our names. Fu and Qi, fūqī (夫妇). _Husband and wife._ See? Silly.”

“Oh, honey.” This time, when Ryan tries to separate after the brief second considered appropriate for hugs between two straight men, Ning doesn’t let go. “From what I’ve learned about Chinese, it’s that there are way too many words with the same damn pronunciation.” Still in Ning’s embrace, he opens Pleco on his phone, propping his phone up on Ning’s shoulder. “If you switch it to _qifu,_ we get qīfù (欺负), which apparently means _bully._ Fitting for how you treated me at the beginning,” Ryan teases, earning himself a ruffle of his hair. At least it’s not a shove, but he moves away anyway.

“Not exactly encouraging, Ryan.”

“Qǐfú (起伏). _Rise and fall._ Qìfù (弃妇). _Abandoned wife._ ” Ryan pauses in his scrolling. “Okay, I’m starting to see what you mean.”

“It was silly.”

“Hang on, don’t lose faith in me just yet.”

“I could never. Your tones are good, by the way.”

“Thanks, I’ve been working on those. The vowels are surprisingly similar to French. How about qífú (祈福)? _Pray for good fortune?_ ”

“That’s… better.” Ning tugs at Ryan’s sleeve. “Come, let’s go back?”

“Hold on, mister, I haven’t looked up ‘fuqi’ yet. Fúqǐ (浮起)? _Float?_ Fúqì (浮气)? _Feeble breath, frivolity,_ or _flippancy,_ ” Ryan reads aloud. “Those… don’t sound very nice. How about fùqì (负气)? _Cross_ or _sulky?_ Hey, that fit you to a tee when I first met you.”

“Pass,” Ning says flatly, but he’s grinning.

“Fúqi (福气),” Ryan says finally, after half a minute of staring at his screen. He looks up and meets Ning’s eyes, which are without fear once again. His voice is thick when he speaks again. “ _Good fortune,_ which sounds like it's a good thing, or. Or.” He sounds like a seal. Shit.

Ning steps between Ryan’s legs and embraces him tightly. “ _A blessing._ A _very_ good thing,” he nearly whispers, voice hoarse. “That’s what you are to me.”

“You _knew,_ ” Ryan says, but he’s too lovestruck to sound accusatory. “You knew I’d get to that one soon enough. The fuck, man, how are you so _smooth?_ ”

“Is it legal to call your boyfriend ‘man’?” Ning wonders aloud, cupping his face. “And well… I did say ‘ _used_ to make me sad.’ You never let me finish.” He leans in, kisses him, and buries his face in Ryan’s neck. “Once I realize our names could also be that one, it… give me hope for us.”

“You hopeless romantic.”

“But got me here, right?”

—

Ryan is antsy and bored the entire first week that he’s in France, which is really just the same as the week before, the only difference being the change in location. He misses Ning something fierce; they’ve been living in each other’s pockets pretty much since the day Ning arrived in New York, so the adjustment has been hard, especially since no one let him bring any work with him to the cushy resort. He passes the time swimming, sending Ning endless Snaps of his chest, and designing onesies for Sky.

He gets into such a good groove sketching a dinosaur onesie that he successfully distracts himself from the fact that he can’t meet Ning at the airport; they both know they’d jump each other as soon as they saw each other (specifically, Ryan would jump into his arms and wrap his legs around Ning’s waist because Ning can _lift_ ).

Ryan’s debating fabric colors when someone knocks on his door, startling him. He opens it without thinking too much about it, mind still torn about making the onesie green or purple, and it takes embarrassingly long (five seconds) for his brain to process the sight of Ning _actually_ standing in front of him. Even after he realizes, he just stares, mouth agape, until he finally remembers how to move his limbs and pulls Ning inside.

Ning crashes their mouths together as soon as the door is shut and lifts Ryan after all, throwing him onto the bed. Ryan takes a second to register the mattress underneath him, and their eyes meet. Neither of them does anything for a good moment, lost in each other’s heated gaze as they are, before it hits them both that they should be _moving._

Ryan turns over and scrambles for lube and condoms, yelping when Ning takes advantage of his position to yank off his shorts. A growl rips its way out of Ning’s throat when he realizes Ryan wasn’t wearing anything underneath, and Ryan pushes back into Ning’s groping hands, gasping as Ning rucks up his tank top and kisses along his spine.

It’s not until Ning’s fully seated inside that he actually speaks. “Hi.”

“Hi? That’s all you can say, while you’re—” He cuts himself off, cracking up, and Ning joins in, their laughter reverberating throughout their bodies.

The laughing quickly turns into moaning, though, and from then on, it’s over embarrassingly quickly.

For Ning, at least. Ryan’s still hard. As Ning puts on a new glove, he squints at Ryan. “I start thinking this more than once thing is more a _you_ thing than a _has-been-while_ thing.”

Ryan’s exasperated groan turns into a moan halfway through, when Ning slides a finger back inside him. “Okay, fine, it _is_ a _me_ thing, but it’s all because of you, so like, can you _please_ stop dragging me during sex? I am _literally_ vulnerable here. The _most_ vulnerable, right now.”

“Make me,” Ning retorts, grinning.

“I _will,_ ” Ryan says, more whine than threat, grinding down on Ning’s finger. Ning adds another, and Ryan makes a helpless sound in his throat. He comes like that, lying on his side, making short, aborted thrusts against Ning’s muscular thigh as they continue kissing.

“You make me, huh?” Ning smirks when Ryan groans and flops onto his back. “I’ll wait.”

Ryan groans again as he tries to get his breath back. “I thought we said we weren’t going to drag me.”

“That rule is only for during,” Ning points out, leaving the bed for the bathroom. Ryan hears the faucet running. Ning comes back out with a damp towel. “Now, is over.” As he gently wipes between Ryan’s thighs before nudging him to turn over, he says, “ _Finally._ ”

“ _Hey,_ ” Ryan protests with no heat. After some fumbling, he finds his poor shorts stuffed under a pillow and examines the damage. There’s a giant tear straight down the back, but Ning’s blush is absolutely delicious, so he lets it slide. Ning disappears into the bathroom again to drop off the towel and then sits at the edge of the bed. More quietly, as he crawls over to curl around Ning’s back, Ryan says, “I missed you so much.”

“You think I didn’t? You send me so many pictures I want to spend all week in bed,” Ning laments forlornly because they both know they can’t. Ning might be all his for the next two days, but once they get to Paris, they’ll only have nights together due to all the press events Ning has to attend. “I want to show you something.”

Ning lifts up the hair covering his left ear. Ryan peers closer. “Oh my god, Ning… it’s beautiful. When did you…”

“As soon as I arrive in Chicago. I miss you so much, so I look for tattoo artist as soon as I arrive.”

Ryan studies it a little longer, taking note of its airy, wispy lines and how it’s oriented toward him, before kissing him hard. He’s careful not to touch the reddened skin. “I love it. And you. I have to remember to be more careful about touching you there, since it’s still healing.”

“I also have something else for you.” After giving Ryan a peck on the lips, Ning sprints across the room for his suitcase, which he’d left by the door. Ryan flops onto his stomach, watching from above as Ning lays the suitcase flat on the floor and unzips it. On top of all his clothes sits a nondescript red binder, which Ning takes out.

“You have so much stuff for me today.” Ryan grins as Ning rolls his eyes but still reddens at the innuendo. “What’s the occasion?”

“Today is June 20.” Ning hefts the one-inch binder into Ryan’s hands. It’s the kind of binder that has a plastic clear sleeve on the front, but the front cover is blank. “Happy one month.”

“Oh honey, I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything; it completely slipped my mind,” Ryan says miserably as he sits up, stomach dropping, even as his mind whirs, confused about why Ning’s giving him a binder. He lifts the binder to gauge its weight, but it doesn’t seem like it’s anything out of the ordinary, to be honest. “I was just so excited about seeing you and…”

“You have this very nice room. Also, you already give me something. Twice,” Ning points out, waggling his eyebrows. Ryan laughs a bit sheepishly. Rejoining Ryan on the bed, he points his chin at the binder. “Open it.”

Ryan pauses before he does, trying to discern why Ning has suddenly gone quiet beside him, but the exterior offers no clues. He then opens the binder on his lap to the first page and stops. Turns to a random page, and his breath catches. Flips through a few more before gasping, hand flying to his mouth when he finally understands what he’s looking at.

“Oh, Ning, I—” His eyes are suddenly filled with tears, and Ning’s already there, cradling his face tenderly, wiping the tears away. “Honey. Darling. Sweetheart. When did you even have the time to do all this?”

“I tell your mom about idea the time we have dinner at your parents’ place, when just me and her because you and your dad were in kitchen. Then she write out all recipes to me in Chinese on WeChat, and I translate into English in my free time.” Ning kisses the corner of his mouth. “Kept me from missing you even more than I already do.”

Ryan takes a breath and collects himself before flipping through more of the unlined pages, all encased in sheet protectors. Ning has written all of it by hand, using different-colored inks to denote optional steps, tips specifically pertaining to Ryan’s level of cooking skill, and additional notes, some of which are about the time of year Mom usually makes it and which plates or bowls Ryan associates certain dishes with because it reminds him of his childhood.

The left page has the recipe in the original Chinese, with tiny doodles illustrating the ingredients; the right has the English translation, with the Chinese for the ingredients neatly penned right above the English, along with the Cantonese and Mandarin romanizations. All throughout, there are photos of the dishes in various stages of preparation to jog his memory—some he thinks are probably from online; some he recognizes were taken in his parents’ own kitchen.

Bottom lip trembling, Ryan smooths a hand over the page for Mom’s homemade char siu recipe. Like the other recipes, there are a few spots where Ning has crossed things out, and Ryan can recognize Mom’s hands in the steps they’d decided to photograph; she and Dad made a living by caring for other people’s hands and feet, and it shows on their own wrinkled, calloused skin.

He thinks about how Mom and Dad and Ning must have gotten to work on this project immediately—Mom and Ning hurriedly brainstorming as they packed red beans into the Beijing-style zòngzi, while Ryan and Dad were having their heart-to-heart in the kitchen; Mom making a different dish every day, which explains all the Tupperware he’d been getting lately; Dad exhaling a long-suffering sigh as he used their fifteen-year-old Good Camera to photograph some of the steps multiple times because Mom wasn’t satisfied with the angles or lighting, because she wanted to minimize the project’s reliance on Google Images; Ning painstakingly translating and editing and curating the recipes to tailor them specifically to Ryan’s context; Ning and Mom and Dad going back and forth for each other’s feedback and insights as the project unfolded.

“This is—is just rough draft,” Ning says hastily when Ryan doesn’t say anything. “I want to, you know, make into real book, but not enough time, and I couldn’t wait to show you—”

“Don’t you _dare,_ ” Ryan says fiercely, tears threatening to spill. He hugs the binder to his chest protectively. “I’m just… I’m just in _awe_ that you guys did all this.”

Once he’s sure Ning isn’t going to take it away from him, Ryan sets the binder down on his lap again and carefully takes a recipe out of the sheet protector, pressing the tip of his finger into the impressions left on the paper.

As he glances over the English page again, something catches his eye. In addition to painstakingly noting the brands of the sauces and vinegars she’d use, Mom even told Ning how Ryan refers to the dishes; the title of the page has the literal translation of the dish’s name—and _that fish thing_ in parentheses, which turns out to be crucian carp steamed in a wok, and that’s when the dam bursts.

“ _Ning,_ ” Ryan manages to wheeze out before he’s full-on bawling. “I—I.”

“Is okay, let go,” Ning says gently, holding him tight. “I have you.”

So Ryan does, sobbing into Ning’s chest, trembling as Ning rubs his back soothingly. He lets himself mourn and cry like he’s never let himself, for the good straight Chinese son his parents never got, the straight Chinese man he realized he could never be, for his parents _or_ for the world, the Chinese man he would have been— _should_ have been—had his parents never left for the U.S.

But he also cries for, and _with,_ the fourteen-year-old boy who had just gotten his fourth black eye in as many months and decided he would do his best to be perceived and accepted as American, the boy who shook like a leaf inwardly even as he proudly, publicly, rejected everything Chinese, who has known for a long time that his Chineseness will die with Mom and Dad and has been mourning that eventuality his entire life.

He cries with the boy who knew his Chinese side and his American side and his gay side would all be at war with each other his entire life if he didn’t choose right when Jimmy Zheng and company beat him up, the pain in his side still sharp and the other kids’ laughter ringing in his ears. The boy who was so sure he’d never have what he actually _does_ get to have now: a cohesive cultural identity, a partner who loves and understands him completely, a love and kindness and _forgiveness_ for his younger self he never thought he could learn to give himself.

A sense of confidence as he pores over these recipes, guided by Mom’s knowledge and Ning’s support and his own childhood memories; the ability to finally put names to the foods he grew up with, in both the language that’s long defined—and sometimes restricted—his identity and the language of family-strife-home; the freedom to relive the best parts of his childhood before the rejection of and by himself, rather than just the worst.

He’s a different person now—he can rewire old associations and create new memories and expand on the definition of home as he figures out these recipes with someone who _knows_ and _understands_ and _sees_ him by his side, someone who will help him find his way should he lose himself again.

He can be gay and Chinese and American all at once.

Ning continues to hold him and rub his back as Ryan’s sobbing quiets. “I want to learn all those things you call your mom’s cooking, so you always have someone who knows what you talk about. I want to always be here to help you be as Chinese as you want to be. If you will have me,” he promises softly. “I love you.”

“I love you, I love you, I love you. I don't even care how much what you just said sounds like a proposal and what I just said sounds like a yes,” Ryan replies as soon as he’s able. “I just… You just _see_ me, and…”

“Of course I see you. I love you. And I will remember that.” He rubs Ryan’s sides, the warmth and pressure of Ning’s hands on his skin a soothing balm for his long-carried, long-bore pain. Ryan can't stop crying. Ning’s so gentle with him, for him, in the way he holds him. “Ryan, you're still shaking,” he murmurs. “You okay?”

“I know I said I wasn’t going to cry over wasted time with you, but. I almost said no,” Ryan manages to wheeze out. “I almost didn't get to have this, to be so happy, to be here with you. I was this close to not having you back in my life, and I just. I don't know.” He scrubs at his eyes uselessly. “I guess I only just realized how close of a call it was.”

“But for good reason. You had no reason to trust it would go well.”

“And it's been going better than I ever dreamed. I imagined it, you know. You coming back to New York, maybe married, kids…”

“I wonder about you, too. If I am still your only Asian, if you marry, if you marry white man.”

“Well, you ended up not being the only, but you _were_ the first. And I want you to be the last, the one I spend the rest of my life with.” Only then realizing what he’s just said, Ryan adds hastily, “In the general scheme of things, I mean.”

“Is _that_ a proposal?” Ning asks, breathless. His pupils are blown wide, and his smile has taken over his entire face. Ryan has never seen him more beautiful or been more in love with him.

“It’s not _not_ a proposal.”

“A proposal, then. So you can make those, but I can't?” Ning teases, but they both know he’s joking. He hugs Ryan to himself more tightly, arms practically crushing him, but Ryan doesn’t care. Ryan then buries his face in Ning’s shoulder, breathing him in and relishing how they both still smell like sweat, sex, and most importantly, _each other._

“It’s a we’ll-talk-more-after-adjusting-to-the-long-distance-stuff-sal,” Ryan amends, voice muffled.

Ning drops a kiss in his hair. “Good enough for me.”

—

They walk back to their hotel after dinner at a nearby restaurant. They’re not holding hands, but it’s a close thing; their hands are close enough to brush against each other. For a moment, right before they reach the hotel, Ning links their pinkies together for two seconds before moving away.

As soon as they enter their room, Ryan goes straight for the shower, mind already on Ning’s schedule for the rest of the week. They only have three more days in Paris together, and he wishes Ning could finish his press stuff this early every night.

When he comes back out in boxers, combing through his wet hair with his fingers, Ning is looking out the window, watching the sky darken. “Hey.”

When Ning doesn’t answer, Ryan pulls him closer via his tie, rests his hands on his chest.

Ning blinks and smiles. “Hi.”

“Shower’s free,” Ryan says unnecessarily. He loosens the tie and starts unbuttoning Ning’s shirt for him. “What were you thinking about? You looked miles away.”

“Nothing.” He covers Ryan’s hands with his and gives him a kiss. “I just never think I would see day you eat Chinese food because you want to. In _France._ ”

“It was Chinese-French fusion. I don’t think that counts.”

“Still pretty Chinese.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that.” Ryan faces the window, too, and places his arm on Ning’s shoulder before resting his head there because he doesn’t want to get Ning’s shirt wet. He yawns. “You should shower soon so we can cuddle and watch something. I _need_ you to watch _Queer Eye_ with me because my heart can’t take it. Jonathan is _life._ ”

“Are you sure you not want to go out and do something instead?”

“You already asked this at the restaurant, remember?” Ryan nuzzles his neck, making Ning yelp a little at the feeling of Ryan’s cold, wet hair on his skin. “I just want a quiet night in tonight.”

“Are you sure?”

Ryan stands upright and faces him. After a second, Ning turns, too, but keeps his eyes on the floor until Ryan tilts Ning’s chin up with a finger.

“What’s wrong?” Ryan asks quietly. “You haven’t looked at me _once_ since we got back from dinner.”

“Nothing, nothing. I just wonder if you prefer to do more sightseeing, something else.” Ning looks to the side. “I just realize… we always do things together, by ourselves. We don’t… hang out with other people often. So I just wonder if you want to go out, with friends, other people.”

“Are you really asking me if I’d want to spend time in one of the most romantic cities in the world with people other than my boyfriend?” Ryan teases, earning him a small smile from Ning.

“No, no, I just… mean more in general. Because we spend time together, yes, but always in private. That’s why I wonder if you prefer go out more. I’m sorry.”

“That’s not a problem at all. I _love_ spending time with you, _especially_ in private,” Ryan murmurs, coming in close to kiss him. He wraps his arms around his waist and presses his forehead against Ning’s, brushing his nose against his. “I get why we can’t just go out on dates all the time, I really do. Don’t worry about what you think I do or do not prefer, okay? I’ll tell you.”

“But I… I know I am not like your past boyfriends. Some of your friends and family know we are together, but you haven’t met any of mine, and I don’t—”

“Hold on. Stop. I’m able to do that because I’m out and because you were okay with them knowing. Just because I did doesn’t mean you have to, too. I know I’m important to you regardless.” He kisses Ning’s neck, feeling how tense Ning still is. “In fact, I’m pretty sure there are days I’m the only thing you think about.”

“True.” Ning exhales. “I just… Sometimes I feel I do not have a lot to offer, compared to the men you date before. Because I’m not out, there are so many things we cannot do, things I cannot do for you.”

“You’re literally a movie star and built like a tank. I wouldn’t call any of that _nothing,_ ” Ryan jokes, before growing serious. “You shouldn’t be comparing yourself to the guys I was dating before because there is literally _nothing_ to compare. I’ve definitely dated more guys who were out than closeted, but there were problems there, too. There was one white guy I dated when I was twenty-two—his parents didn’t accept him when he came out to them, so he decided he’d try to piss them off as much as possible as revenge, by dating me and bringing me to dinner to meet them. Yeah, I felt used because clearly I was just a means to an end for him, not a person, but there was also the fact that I didn’t feel comfortable or _safe_ in that house out in North Carolina, with his parents being so openly hostile. It was the first and _only_ time I was ever in a house with guns.” He plays with Ning’s collar. “So sure, dating an out guy can be easier sometimes, but that doesn’t mean you do nothing for me. Especially when none of my exes love me the way you do. That’s why you’re here, and they’re not.”

“I did not say ‘nothing,’” Ning corrects him. “I say ‘not a lot.’”

“Ning. Be honest. Do you really think you’re not pulling your weight in our relationship because you’re not out?”

Ning bites his lip, turns away. “Can we… not talk about this right now?” He sighs. “I had busy day today, and now not much energy left.”

Ryan looks at him for a long time, taking in the lines of Ning’s worn face, the dark circles under his eyes. Ning fidgets under his steady gaze.

Finally, Ryan says, “Okay. Not today, but we _will_ get back to this because I love you and can’t stand seeing this weighing on you.”

“I love you, too. Don’t worry about me, okay?” Ning separates from him, patting him on the shoulder. “I go shower now.”

As Ryan listens to the sounds of Ning showering, he lies on the bed, thinking about the guilt Ning said he felt about his relief at not being asked about their romantic relationship during the screening, the way Ning tried to take all the blame for why they didn’t work out seven years ago. It’s obvious that whatever Ning’s been feeling about being closeted hasn’t gone away.

It still clings to him, the way dumpling skin used to cling to the pot because Ryan, always afraid of undercooking his dumplings, would deliberately boil them too long. And like Ryan unlearning his habit of overcooking his dumplings, it’s going to take time for Ning to understand being closeted doesn’t make him lesser in their relationship.

But it doesn’t mean he can’t help Ning along, like how Mom used to pull Ryan by the arm to the pot and have him observe the color of the dumpling skin change from white to translucent gray, the way the dumplings would rise from the bottom of the pot and bob along the surface, propelled by the boiling water, until he learned how to do it on his own.

His stomach grumbles. Maybe he should’ve gone for that second helping of dumplings at the restaurant like Ning had urged him to; they were amazing.

He’s still deep in thought about Ning and dumplings when Ning comes out of the shower, clad in a shirt and boxers.

As Ning moisturizes his face in front of the mirror, Ryan looks at Ning’s reflection from behind him, smiling back when Ning notices, his own lips quirking up in a soft smile. After a few moments of easy silence, Ryan abruptly suggests, “Let’s play a game. Have you heard of Twenty Questions?”

“Yes?” Ning lies on the bed next to him, taking a second to arrange a pillow behind his back. “You want to play, right now? I thought you want to watch something.”

“Yeah, after. Anyway, so this game is kind of like Twenty Questions, but there’s really only one question, and I’m the one asking. Oh, and none of it leaves this room. Seriously. We will never bring it up again.”

“Sound more like interrogation.”

“Potato, po-tah-to. You ready?”

“Sure. What is the question?”

Ryan takes a deep breath and stares up at the ceiling. “Where do you see our relationship _really_ going?”

“Uh… What is… Why… What is your purpose asking?”

He lets out a sigh. “I just… I feel like we’ve referenced, uh, _future things_ a lot. And I feel like you’re not joking, but I also don’t know for sure you’re not, so I just want to know if how you see our future matches up to how I see it. Sometimes I just… I just get really overwhelmed with how much I feel for you and want to tell you everything I can see happening for us and have to hold back because I don’t want to ruin what we have going on here if it turns out you’re not being serious,” Ryan explains, closing his eyes. “Hence the rule about not bringing it up outside this room, this trip, really, as leverage or ammo for arguments or whatever.”

“Future things. Like… marriage.”

“Yeah.”

“But what if I say, and I scare you off?” Ning asks softly.

“If it’s anything like what I’ve been thinking, I doubt it.”

“So why don’t you say first, then?”

“Because I asked _you._ ”

“And you’re scared.”

“And I’m scared,” Ryan agrees, propping himself up with an elbow to look at him. Ning’s smiling. “Okay, how about this: where do you see yourself in five years?”

“Hm. Hopefully, I am more successful because of《他/她的妻子》and get to take on more roles for other stories I want to tell. Maybe I work on French movie or somewhere else. Maybe even America.” Ning flutters his eyelashes coyly. “Maybe I move there, at least stay there half the time.”

Ryan takes his hand in his. “Oh?”

“How about you?”

“Well, if the FashionEASTas are still around, Reese and I were playing around with the idea of expanding to other countries.” Ryan flutters his own eyelashes. “Most likely, we’d go to Asia, first. Maybe I’d go, stay there sometimes.”

“That sounds nice.” Ning shifts so that his head is on Ryan’s chest. He presses his ear to Ryan’s heart and taps out the rhythm with his fingers on Ryan’s stomach, which caves in a little until Ryan gets used to his feathery touch. “My view on future things is… I am joking if you are,” he says softly. “But I’m not.”

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” Ryan confesses quietly. “I want that so much that it overwhelms me sometimes, but it’s nothing compared to how much I worry you don’t know how I feel about you. But then I worry maybe it’s too much to want, when we’ve only been together for real for a month.”

Ning shakes his head, his hair gently tickling Ryan’s stomach. “You’re stuck with me,” he vows, and Ryan knows it’s a promise he’s going to keep.

—

A lot of people are already at NYC Pride by the time Ryan spots his parents half a block away. He yawns as he sends them a message on WeChat, having come straight from his red-eye flight home from France, with only a quick stop at his apartment to shower. At least it had been easier than he’d expected to part from Ning—Ryan only asked for a last goodbye kiss twice before forcing himself to finally leave.

When he reaches them, he gives Mom a kiss on the cheek and Dad a one-armed hug. It’s their sixth year going to Pride with him, which he suspects they only started doing because they felt bad for him after Ning flew home without him, but they’ve gotten more into it over the years, so it’s an okay trade-off.

Mom and Dad both have PFLAG buttons pinned to their shirts, and for the past several years, they’ve been switching off with the same signs they always bring along:《我們愛我們的兒子！》and _We Love Our Son!_

This year, though, they proudly show him new signs they made the night before:《我們愛我們的兒子和他的男朋友！》and _We Love Our Son And His Boyfriend!_

“Oh my god, how…” Ryan hugs them tightly, not caring at all that the signs are digging into his sides. They start walking around to find a good spot for Mom and Dad to sit and watch from. The Pride March doesn’t start for a while yet, so they take their time. Every now and then, Ryan passes by other Asians, and a flicker flares up in his chest every time—nostalgia and empathy when they look younger than him, hope and admiration when they’re older, but always familiarity. Like recognizing like.

“I call Ning and ask him last week if okay,” Dad says gruffly, so long after they’ve started walking that Ryan initially doesn’t know what he’s talking about. “He say yes, want picture.”

An older Chinese man nearby says something to them. He looks older than Dad, his hair completely white and his face lined with wrinkles. Ryan doesn’t understand what he’s saying, but he immediately recognizes it as Toisanese, and hearing it immediately brings him back to his childhood days, when he’d hear Mama speak it to her friends, all as old as her—and only to them, to the point where six-year-old Ryan thought Toisanese was literally the language of old Chinese people, the language all Chinese people speak upon becoming grandparents. Mama had laughed so hard that she had cried when he told her that, and god, he misses her _so much._

“He say he help us take picture,” Dad translates. Then, haltingly, Dad replies half in Toisanese, half in Cantonese, and the man’s face lights up.

“多謝… or is it 唔該？” Ryan looks back at his parents for help, wishing he knew Toisanese, but they don’t know much, either. _[The two ways to say “thank you” in Cantonese; the former is for a gift, and the latter is what you say in return to a favor someone does for you.]_

The man waves off his thanks. Mom, Dad, and Ryan all give him their phones, and he’s patient as they arrange themselves. After the stranger snaps a bunch of photos for them on all of their phones, they thank him profusely. The stranger’s eyes stay on their Chinese sign, full of regret.

Right when they’re about to walk off to catch up to Nora and the rest, the man says, “My wife die one year. I almost not let daughter say goodbye because she has kid with wife, no talk ten years. I am happy you not make mistake like me. Happy family, you.”

After a moment, Dad pats Ryan on the back. “You go ahead. I stay, talk to him.”

“Okay,” Ryan agrees. This, he knows, is something Mom and Dad have gotten better at. After a moment’s thought, he adds, smiling, “Love you.”

“Love you,” Dad repeats with a gentle smile of his own before walking closer to the man.

Ryan uses his height to his advantage, looking for Nora’s colorful hair. The search based on that doesn’t prove conclusive, so Ryan starts looking for the cluster of three caps denoting colors for the bi and polyamory flags that Dex and his partners are sporting.

Mom loops an arm through Ryan’s elbow, her other hand holding her sign tightly. “Who do makeup today? Yourself or Janet?”

“Just me. Janet had something to do, so she’s going to get here a little later.”

Mom gives him a faux-critical eye, love and humor clear in her gaze. “Better now.”

“Well, I _would_ be much better if _someone_ had let me play with her makeup when I was younger,” Ryan teases without bite.

“You try eat my lipstick when you are baby,” Mom says, though her smile grows a little strained. Ryan knows she’s thinking about the other reason she wouldn’t let him play with it.

Ryan nudges her gently with his hip. “Hey. Mom. I just wanted to say thank you so much for helping Ning with the recipe book. You don’t know how much it means to me.”

“Welcome. You tell me any time, I teach you how to make. I love you, my baby.” She takes his hand in hers, which is a little awkward because his arm is much longer and it’s the one linked with hers, to boot, but they manage it after a few seconds of maneuvering. With their hands clasped together, she uses her wrinkled, calloused thumb to draw a happy face on the back of his hand the best she can. “Sorry take so long to accept you.”

Ryan looks at their hands because he can’t handle making eye contact right now. The skin on her hands has gotten looser with age, but underneath the superficial frailty is still the same wiry strength she’s always had, thickened and hardened after all those years she and Dad spent in their salon, always aimed at him when he was little, but not so much anymore. “Love you, too. It was a long time ago.”

She shakes her head. “We hurt you when meet first boyfriend. No talk that one year, hard for us. Harder for you, bet.”

He’s about to shrug nonchalantly but changes course at the last second. His shoulders sag. “Yeah,” he says finally. He’d distracted himself helping Janet with infant Lakey, but—“Yeah.”

“We always try better from now on, promise,” Mom vows seriously. “I love you.” She frowns. “I want kiss you but will mess up makeup.”

“Do it anyway.” Ryan gives her a teary-eyed smile. “We can always fix it together.”

—

They hold the five-year birthday party for the FashionEASTas in Reese and Nora’s backyard on Staten Island. Ryan opens the front door for Ning an hour after the party starts, when everyone’s outside for the barbeque. Luggage in tow, Ning looks worse for wear—hair disheveled, shirt wrinkled, face looking years older than when Ryan saw him last—but once he sees Ryan, his whole face lights up, eyes crinkling as he grins at him.

“Had five cups of coffee before coming,” Ning says in greeting, yawning despite them. “Now I copy you.”

Ryan throws his arms around him, and for a moment, they’re just clinging to each other in the doorway, despite all the comfy couches in Reese and Nora’s tasteful, sun-lit living room. Then Ryan pulls back to drink in the sight of him, even though he can sketch Ning’s face with his eyes closed. “I told you, you didn’t have to come! Especially since you have to leave again tomorrow afternoon—”

“You think I can stay away from you? Not on your life, Mr. Fashion Man,” Ning says, as he finally detaches himself from Ryan and brings his luggage inside.

“ _…’Mr. Fashion Man’?_ That the best you got?” He rolls his eyes even while smiling, watching Ning hurriedly smooth down his shirt. He sighs. “Not that I don’t love having you here, but I should’ve told you no—you look so tired—”

“I want to be here.” Ning steps into Ryan’s space again and straightens (gay-ens?) the lapels of Ryan’s blazer. “Anyway, _you_ look so good,” he murmurs.

Ryan’s heart starts pounding against his chest, as if trying to touch Ning’s fingertips. “I—”

“Hey! Quit flirting, and show Ning what we got!” Reese calls out, poking her head into the living room from outside, startling them both.

Ning reluctantly lets him go, and they clear the doorway. Ryan pushes open the screen door and guides Ning into the spacious backyard with a hand on the small of his back. He watches Ning’s face grin widen as he takes in the huge rainbow banner that reads _CONGRATULASIANS FASHIONEASTAS,_ the red carpet cardboard backdrop thing that says _HAPPY 5 YEARS FASHIONEASTAS_ (and the steady stream of people taking pictures in front of it, complete with props), the absolutely gigantic cake with a painstakingly detailed recreation of their logo in all of its three-dimensional glory…

“ _Oof,_ ” Ryan exhales when Ning suddenly turns and throws his arms around him.

“I am so proud of you,” Ning says earnestly. Then he walks over to where Reese is waiting and hugs her as well, more gently. “Proud of you, too. So much hard work. Come, I want take picture of you two.”

Reese presses a loud kiss to each of their cheeks. “Loving the enthusiasm here, but that’s not what I was talking about.”

Ryan leads a confused Ning to the corner right next to the steps leading back into the house. There, a giant rectangle is covered by a large black tarp. Nora stands next to it and waves to Sky, who’s in their grandmother’s arms and trying to escape her hold.

“One second, okay, baby?” Nora blows Sky a kiss, and then, without further ado, she takes the tarp off, revealing a red carpet backdrop similar to the FashionEASTas one. The only difference is that the repeating text reads: **他/她的妻子** // _**THE SAME WIFE**._

Heart in his throat, Ryan watches as Ning’s face flits from expression to expression, from confusion to shock to pure joy. Ning flings his arms around Ryan again, and the applause around them becomes deafening.

When they break apart, Ning’s eyes are back on it. “How…”

“You and _The Same Wife_ are part of the FashionEASTas’ history now,” Reese explains. “Ryan’s work with you has been one of the highlights of our fifth year in existence, and we wanted to commemorate it somehow.”

Eyes brimming with tears, Ning hugs her again. “Thank you so much.” He turns to the crowd. “Thank you, everyone, for helping me make so many of my dreams a reality.”

Elle announces it’s time to cut the cake, thankfully saving a tongue-tied Ning from rambling. Reese, Ryan, and Ning lag behind everyone else, while Nora goes back inside the house to retrieve Sky’s favorite giraffe. Ning continues to stare at the backdrop.

“Alright, alright, get over there.” Ryan whips out his phone. “I can tell you’re itching to get your picture taken with it.”

Ning laughs, face slightly red at being caught so easily, but does as he’s told, moving to stand in front of it. Right before Ryan snaps the picture, though, he gestures at him. “Wait!”

“Yeah?”

“Get over here! I want you in picture, too!”

Laughing, Ryan hands his phone off to Reese. “Okay, but don’t think you get to skip off when I want a picture with _my_ backdrop.”

“I could never,” Ning murmurs, ducking in close to his right ear. At the last second, right before they hear the shutter sound, Ning presses a kiss to his tattoo. Later on, when they look back at the picture, Ning will tease Ryan for the surprised yet completely lovestruck smile on his face.

But for now, they go get cake, and Nora photographs Ryan and Reese feeding cake to the three-dimensional logo, like it’s an actual five-year-old child. Then, they all get embroiled in an argument about whether that constitutes cannibalism, since the edible logo is essentially a gigantic cake pop mounted on a stick.

Ryan laughs too hard and goes off to get another drink. It’s an alcohol-free event, so he knows the bubbliness he feels is all due to the atmosphere tonight.

There’s one person already standing there, and he’s studying the crowd, drink in hand. As Ryan gets closer, he can see the dark circles under his eyes and wrinkles on his shirt, telltale signs of having slept on the plane to New York. He smiles when Ryan reaches him.

Ryan smiles back and nods at him as he pours some lychee punch for himself. “James.”

“Ryan. Congratulations.”

Ryan takes a sip. “Thanks.” Then, after a moment, he says, a bit awkwardly, “I’m sorry I was such an asshole at the beginning.”

James shrugs. “You had your reasons.”

“Did you… _Do_ you know…?”

James shakes his head. “I had some suspicions but didn’t ask. He told me after the advance screening a few weeks back.”

After Ning had implied… right. “Oh.”

“Wasn’t my business until he said it was, so.” James sticks a hand out. “I’m happy for you both. Took you two a while to get there, but you did.”

“Yeah.” Ryan shakes his hand, grinning back. They got there, alright. “Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't believe we're almost at the end of the [main] fic! next up: important conversasians and validasian, the return of best baby sky, and ryan [and ning] finally going to beijing! after part 7, there is going to be a part 8 that is epiloguey but not considered part of this fic's main timeline bc it involves things that i don't feel qualified to depict (like ning coming out)
> 
> and then, depending on when i finish part 8 bc it is LONG rn (20k) but still not done.........................................................there will be a part 9 of some bonus scenes that took place thru/o the seven years they were apart or happened offscreen during the timeline of the main fic. i'm about two scenes away from finishing part 8 atm, and it's like... about 3k shy of 100k? idk what to do with that info but anyway @ my mind please.........let me rest........give me peace.......leave me alone........
> 
> p.s. forgot to make this pun earlier but i like to think of janet and reese and nora in this fic as like them always coming out to shame/drag ryankind


	7. two lifetimes, yours and mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “After we eat, I’ll introduce you to my new bed.”
> 
> Ning sits on his right and shakes his head as he tries the soup, pronouncing it as good as Mom’s. “I told you, waste of money. Just no more shove, easy.”
> 
> Ryan gives up trying to spear a piece of winter melon in his soup and points his chopsticks at him. “Ning, I do so much for our relationship, including getting a bigger bed, so I can have more _space_ to work on you—”
> 
> Ning snorts. “‘ _Work_ ’ _?_ ‘On _me’?_ Is that what you call now? When _I_ —”
> 
> “Yes, _work_ —”
> 
> “More than _once_ —”
> 
> They’re both in stitches by that point, carefully placing their bowls on the table before clutching their sides as they laugh and laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S FRIGAY FRIGAY GOTTA GET DOWN ON FRIGAY!!!!!!! WHOOOOO we are now at the last part of the main fic!!!!!!! i cannot believe we are finally here! this covers some of july (when ning flies back to ny for the start of his approx. 3-month break) until october-ish. and then we're done with the 'canon' timeline!!!!!!! but fear not, an epiloguey thing is coming your way the week after this and depending on if i can finish it for the week after THAT, a part 9 of bonus scenes that gives a glimpse of their 7 years apart/behind-the-scenes things/etc will be coming your way! and then i'm done i promise! 
> 
> ALSO jsyk i added a mini-prologue thingy at the beginning of ch1. it's not necessary to read but i just stuck it there to parallel the beginning of the movie
> 
> \- link to masterpost: [here](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/tagged/behind-the-scenes-masterpost)
> 
> \- link to notes: [[collapsible version](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/behindthescenes)] // [[non-collapsible (long) version](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/behindbehindthescenes)] 
> 
> \- link to reblog: [here](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/tagged/behind-the-scenes-7)
> 
> \- link to gaylist: [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLtStoH71eEUsdLEBRosaLNTcCKQ4dlULX)
> 
> \- quick notes: ho fun is canto for a certain kind of rice noodle, and it's chinese tradition to throw either a party for when the baby turns a month/30 days old or for when the baby turns 100 days old (i've also read that it's vietnamese tradition to throw a party for the baby's one-month). i've chosen to do 100 days for plot timing reasons. also check the notes to see what ryan's present to ning looks like!

Ning flies to Munich the morning after the five-year party, and their time apart passes by quickly, helped by the fact that it’s summertime, which means Ryan can distract himself by mentoring a bunch of new interns.

Finishing off one last sketch, Ryan leaves work early the evening Ning is supposed to arrive, who is finally free from all work responsibilities until October. He walks around Chinatown with Mom on his arm as she helps him pick out the crabs he’s planning to cook to welcome Ning back.

The subway delay on the way home is as long as ever, but because it’s July, the sun’s still setting by the time he finally gets home. As soon as he gets inside his apartment, he gets straight to work, following Mom’s instructions in the recipe book exactly to ensure the ho fun soaks up all of the crab flavor. He uses the remaining crab for Ning’s favorite of Mom’s soups (that he’s tried so far, Ning always interjects), winter melon crab soup.

A half-hour passes, then an hour. Ryan tracks Ning’s flight online and learns it’s been delayed. A knot grows in his stomach, continuing to grow when he starts feeling guilty about how Ning must have felt that first time waiting for him to come.

He ends up dozing off on the couch, startling awake when he hears the door being unlocked. Before scrambling for the door, he checks the clock. 10 p.m.

“Ryan. Bǎobèi.” Ning collapses in Ryan’s arms as soon as he opens the door. “Sorry.”

“Flight delays, nothing you could help.” Ryan pulls Ning’s suitcase inside with his free hand. “You eat yet? I cooked.”

“Mm, good. I’m starving.” Ning kisses him, quick and easy. Then he deepens the kiss, clinging to Ryan when he tries to pull away at the sound of Ning’s stomach grumbling.

“Food first!” Ryan exclaims, laughing after he manages to get away from Ning’s eager clutches. He rushes over to the kitchen to reheat the food before Ning can grab him again.

When he comes back out, Ning is lying on the couch, eyes closed, but he rises when he hears Ryan’s footsteps. Ryan trades the bowls of soup to Ning for a kiss before ducking back into the kitchen for chopsticks and the crab ho fun.

As Ryan hands a pair of chopsticks to Ning before sitting down, he grins and says, “After we eat, I’ll introduce you to my new bed.”

Ning sits on his right and shakes his head as he tries the soup, pronouncing it as good as Mom’s. “I told you, waste of money. Just no more shove, easy.”

Ryan gives up trying to spear a piece of winter melon in his soup and points his chopsticks at him. “Ning, I do so much for our relationship, including getting a bigger bed, so I can have more _space_ to work on you—”

Ning snorts. “‘ _Work_ ’ _?_ ‘On _me’?_ Is that what you call now? When _I_ —”

“Yes, _work_ —”

“More than _once_ —”

They’re both in stitches by that point, carefully placing their bowls on the table before clutching their sides as they laugh and laugh.

Once they’ve calmed down and resumed eating, Ryan hooks Ning’s ankle with his. “I watched every single one of your movies while you were gone.”

“Yeah?” Ning ruthlessly demolishes his second crab of the night. “What you think?”

“You really did only get more handsome over the years. That action movie… wow.”

Ning hums contentedly. “You are biased.”

“True, but,” Ryan takes a deep breath and exhales, “I also rewatched _Springtime in Nanking._ ”

Ning sets his chopsticks down. “What you think?” he asks casually but carefully.

“It made me think of…” Ryan pauses to collect his thoughts. “Right before you left, you told me something. ‘You have to plow in order to harvest.’ You have to give up something—”

“—to achieve your dream,” Ning finishes for him. “Yes.”

“You also told me I was a good thing, like a blessing. I know it probably means a different kind of blessing in Chinese, but for me,” Ryan murmurs, remembering how he had nearly dropped his phone in shock as Ning patiently watched him figure it out, “it’s something you don’t have to work for, something you don’t have to give up anything for. Something—a good thing—that just drops into your life, which is a very nice thing to say about me, but it’s also why I don’t think you ever give yourself enough credit.”

Ning lowers his eyes to the table before meeting Ryan’s again, biting his lip.

“You worked hard—with me, together—for us to get to where we are now. I know you only apologized because you wanted me to know you really _are_ sorry. Now, I’m forgiving you because I want to. But I honestly don’t think it’s _my_ forgiveness you need.” He taps his fingers on the table, watching Ning carefully. “It’s your own.”

Ning furrows his eyebrows, but stays silent, so Ryan soldiers on.

“I think… I _hope_ that you can be kinder to who you were seven years ago and that… our relationship helps you understand you _don’t_ always have to give up something.” Ryan reaches for Ning’s hand across the table, and Ning gives it. “You can be closeted and still be happy. You can still have someone who loves you.”

Ning wipes at his eyes with his other hand, and Ryan knows he’s pinpointed the exact source of Ning’s anxiety, fear, hurt.

Ryan leans back in his chair, and continues on, voice gentle. “Just because you hurt me back then doesn’t make you someone undeserving of love. You’ve grown, just like I have. Took a while, but we’re both here, so. Trust that you— _we_ —can handle it, should anything happen. I know I do.”

Ning sags, and Ryan catches him. The corner of the table digs into his side, but he focuses on Ning’s weight instead. “You’re right. I _have_ been so scared of repeating my past mistakes.”

“I love you. I’m all in, okay? I really am. You’re the love of my life,” Ryan whispers into Ning’s tattoo. “It’s going to take a lifetime and then some to cool me down about you, got it?”

“You are mine, too,” Ning whispers back. “Two lifetimes, yours and mine.”

“I also got you something to make up for forgetting about our one-month anniversary.” Ryan pulls away from Ning to bring a pouch out from his pocket. “Give me your hand.”

Even as Ning does, he protests, “You didn’t have to—”

As Ryan empties the pouch’s contents into Ning’s palm, he shakes his head, cutting Ning off. “I wanted to do something for you to reinforce how I feel about you.”

Ning’s jaw drops, and as always, it’s a lovely sight complemented by his eyes widening as he examines the two objects. “Cufflinks? Where did you…”

“You remember Hui Wen? Her brother is a crafts artisan of some sort, so I asked him to help me make these. I came up with the design when I was flying home from Paris, actually.” Ryan angles one cufflink in the light. “Look closer. What do you notice?”

Ning takes it and studies it more closely before comparing it with the other, the gold shining in the light. “They don’t look the same.”

“That’s right.” Ryan has Ning rotate the cufflink and watches as the reflection of the light chases its way through the latticed design. “Look again. Why are they different?”

Ryan watches as Ning continues to rotate them. Ryan’s just about to help him angle them a certain way, when he sees the recognition hit Ning’s eyes. Ning’s smile starts off small and uncertain, growing until it takes over his entire face when he confirms what he sees. Ning’s bottom lip starts to wobble when he puts it all together, and Ryan catches Ning’s hands when they start to shake.

“Ryan, you…”

“I didn’t want other people to see, so I hid it in the lattice,” Ryan explains, as Ning reverently traces the 福 (fú) on one cufflink, the 气 (qì) on the other, “but you’ll always know it’s there. It’s to remind you that I love you and that us coming back into each other’s lives is a blessing, something we both harvested without any plowing—it’s everything that came after that was the harvest, after hard work from both of us. Or whatever. This is way cornier than I wanted it to be, and I actually practiced,” Ryan complains.

“They’re beautiful. Thank you, for everything.” Ning hugs him tight. “My bǎobèi.”

They share a long kiss at the table before Ning complains they’re still too far apart and drags Ryan to the living room, grabbing the comforter and pillows from the couch to build them a little cocoon.

As Ning makes himself comfortable on the floor, he continues turning the cufflinks over and over in one hand as he beckons Ryan closer with the other. “You don’t know how much I love these,” he says softly. “To have your love with me in plain sight… I love you so much.“

“I love you, too.” He lays his head on Ning’s shoulder, holding out his hand. Just how quickly Ning clasps their hands together still fills him with so much joy. “I also want to say you kissing me or holding my hand around other people in semi-public places… I know it’s not a small thing for you to do. I really appreciate what you do for me.”

“It’s not just for you.” Ning brings their hands closer to him and kisses his. “I feel… silly. Silly how happy it makes me, but proud of myself that… I dare to do, show other people how much I love you.”

“You don’t think I feel silly for being proud of myself whenever I say something in Mandarin right? You’ve spent a long time being afraid of people knowing, and while you’re still afraid, but you’re doing it anyway, which counts for something.”

“Then same with you with Chinese.”

“Are you sure? Because I feel like at my age, I probably shouldn’t be so proud of knowing as much Chinese as, like, a toddler.”

“You sure you know even that much?” Ning jokes, earning himself a ruthless tickling. His ticklishness is an _enormously_ entertaining thing to learn about his Mr. Buff Man boyfriend. “But serious. You grow up here. Other kids bully for being gay and Chinese. Family not help either, not accept gay. Of course you not like Chinese very much. But now you take steps, same as me. Don’t feel silly. You should never feel—ah.” Ning ruffles his hair when Ryan starts grinning. “You trick me.”

“I mean, I did need and appreciate the validasian, but yeah. Learned it from Reese. God knows how many times she’s used it on me.”

“Thank you.” Ning gives him a sweet, lingering kiss, and they lose themselves in that for a while.

“For the record,” Ryan says a little while later, “ _Springtime in Nanking_ is really cheesy.”

Ning smiles sheepishly. “Well.”

“It’s easier for me to watch it now,” Ryan admits. “Today was the first time I’d seen it in years. Don’t apologize,” he interjects sternly when Ning opens his mouth. “We’re done with those for, like, a year.”

Ning laughs and leans into him for yet another kiss. “I should do dishes.”

“You’re tired.”

“Well, _you_ won’t do them—”

“I will! I have a dishwasher!”

“—right, I was going to say. You won’t do them _right._ ”

“How about another Chinese American compromise: I’ll scrape off the food bits with a sponge, no soap, and _then_ put them in the dishwasher.”

“Huh.” Ning presses a thoughtful kiss to Ryan’s chin. “Never thought of it that way.”

“My mom’s been doing that for years. Dad doesn’t know.”

“Then how come you let me wash all those—”

“I was trying to impress you!”

Ning snorts. “Believe me, I have been impressed since I first saw you again. Just not by that.”

“I’m starting to realize that,” Ryan says dryly. “You going to carry me to bed now, or what?” He squeezes Ning’s biceps. “Missed these.”

Ning suddenly sweeps him up in a bridal carry, and Ryan yelps, glaring down at him. “They miss you, too,” he says cheerfully, as he carefully navigates them to Ryan’s— _their_ —bedroom. The dishes can wait.

—

Sky turns a hundred days old on a hot August day. To celebrate, Reese and Nora rent an entire Chinese restaurant for the party, coincidentally a street away from where Ryan and Ning first met. Every table is full, with their extended families flying in from overseas to meet Sky for the first time, and everyone is dressed in red.

At the center of the celebration are Reese in a cheongsam, Nora in an áo dài, and of course, a bleary-eyed, chubby-cheeked Sky, decked out in a silk hooded jumpsuit with gold trimmings and a gold tiger hair clip in their hair. Ryan marvels at how much more Sky looks like their moms than when they were born, at how devastatingly cute the overall effect is; Ning catches him looking at Sky with teary heart eyes at least twice.

Because Ryan is too moved by Sky to speak, Ning presents Sky with their red envelopes. Sky manages to hold onto them briefly before dropping them, squirming in Reese’s arms. Once the red envelopes are out of their view, Sky turns their focus to Ning’s hands. Ning sticks out a hand, and they grab his pointer finger.

“Hello,” Ning says gently, while Ryan continues dying next to him, mind suddenly filled with images of Ning singing a baby to sleep, feeding them their bottle, giving them a piggyback ride, goodnaturedly correcting their Chinese, teaching them how to make dumplings—he only _just_ got used to Ning’s Hot Dad Bod, and now the universe expects him to just. Continue to exist. At the same time as Ning _and_ Sky? In the same _time and space?_

“How,” Ryan says helplessly to Reese, who had to hand Sky off to Nora because her cackling was jostling Sky too much. “ _How._ ”

Reese doesn’t help, just starts snapping pictures for Instagram. “Ning, you wanna hold them?”

Ning freezes. “Me?”

“Hey, that’s not fair! I’m your best friend, and you’re letting Ning go first?” Ryan turns to Ning. “I love you, but no offense.”

“Love you, too,” Ning says back automatically, his mind elsewhere. “No, no, I not hold until after Ryan. If can trust, that is.”

“Ning’s got a point. You _should_ go first, but.” Nora shifts Sky to her other hip, letting them resume drooling, but on her other shoulder. “Not that we aren’t super flattered and amused, but every time you go near Sky, you kind of just… stop. Like, you turn into an actual human BSOD. We kind of worry you’d drop them, like, all the time.”

“BSOD? What decade are we in?” Ryan demands to know. “And okay… fair. Just. How can I not, when they’re literally just. So. Perfect.”

“Dude, I _feel_ you,” Reese says with feeling. “Alright, come on. We’re doing this today.”

“Wait, what?” Ryan wipes his suddenly sweaty hands on his pants. “Right now?”

“Yep, so Ning can hold the baby after you, and I get to take some pictures to be used on you for nefarious purposes later,” Reese smirks.

“Are you sure. You want to entrust Sky to me. _My_ hands.” Ryan’s head spins. He’s gotten close enough to Sky to examine all those tiny eyelashes and fingernails and dimples in extreme detail, but has never dared to hold them, has only ever let them gnaw on his thumb. Once.

“What are you afraid of?” Reese cocks her head, studying him closely. “Afraid you’ll want to be their godfather after all?”

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you guys about that.” Ryan takes a deep breath, feeling more grounded when Ning places a hand on his shoulder. “I changed my mind. I… yes, I do.”

Nora and Reese quietly whoop, and Reese clasps her hands together in glee. “Okay, that means you _definitely_ have to hold them now. Get those arms ready.”

“Uh…”

Reese rolls her eyes as she repositions him. “Don’t tell me you never held Lakey when she was a baby?”

“That was, like, twelve years ago,” Ryan hisses, shaking a little. “Not like I’ve come into regular contact with babies until—” He stops completely short when Nora gently deposits them in his arms. “Oh. Hi.”

Sky blinks at him drowsily, burrows into his arms some more, and dozes off.

“Oh my god,” Ryan whispers. Sky isn’t heavy, but the smoothness of the silk, their warmth, and the new baby smell they still have really drive home their preciousness and just how _real_ this whole thing is—he is their godfather now. Sky is his _godchild._ “Oh my god. There is a real live baby in my arms, and I am still somehow alive. How.”

“Well, you better _stay_ alive because no one’s going to appreciate it if you suddenly died and dropped our baby,” Reese threatens, whipping out her phone again to take more pictures. He’s pretty sure he looks like he’s crying in all of them.

“Look at your man,” Nora murmurs into Ryan’s ear, coming up from behind him, her hair tickling his shoulder as she leans in. “I think he’s into it.”

Ryan looks up from Sky’s sleeping form and meets Ning’s eyes, taking note of the fragile, gentle warmth in his eyes and his soft, wistful smile. Ning’s smile quickly turns guilty when he realizes Ryan’s caught him looking, but Ryan just smiles more widely, keeping his eyes on him.

After a moment, Ning relaxes back into that smile, hopeful and adoring. Then Sky shifts, their movement drawing Ryan’s focus back to them, but he knows Ning’s still looking, still imagining. Just like him.

“And here I thought _I’d_ be the starstruck one,” Ryan murmurs back, suddenly remembering that Nora’s still waiting for him to respond. “Oh, how the tables have turned. Or rather, _are turning._ ”

“Who says there can’t be both?” Nora pinches his side, and Ryan’s proud to say he barely flinches. “Also, come _on_. _What decade are we in, Ryan?_ ” Then she sobers. “But in all seriousness, Ryan, he looks…”

“I know,” Ryan says quietly, chest filled with joy. “I know.”

“ _Baby, let him be your man,_ ” Nora hums, and laughing, Ryan joins in.

“I will,” Ryan promises, before correcting himself, as they both sway to their humming. “I am.”

“Good.” Then Nora turns to Ning. “Your turn!”

Ning blinks his way back to real life. “Oh! Sure.”

“Wait, I want to record this,” Reese calls out as Ryan walks closer to Ning. “I’m going to turn this into a GIF and send it to you every day, Ryan.”

“Didn’t the creator say it’s pronounced _Jif,_ like the peanut butter?” Ryan asks. He and Ning exchange a soft smile as Ryan carefully places Sky into Ning’s arms. Ning’s breath catches, and it isn’t until Ryan squeezes his arm that Ning finally exhales.

“Well, I don’t _GIF_ a—”

“Like _giraffe,_ you know, the animal all over Sky’s quilt?” Ryan retorts absentmindedly, watching Ning’s face soften even more as he looks at Sky.

“It’s _Graphi_ —”

“Little one,” Ning begins, before switching to Mandarin as he rocks Sky, and Ryan can’t help but stare. Again.

Seeing Ning all tender and gentle like this stirs something inside him, fragile and hopeful. Before, he never let himself think about something like this happening. But seeing the two of them together right now, it’s startlingly easy to imagine everything else that comes after. To want.

To _know_ all of it _will_ come.

Ning hands Sky back to Reese when Sky stirs and starts fussing. “Oh, they’re hungry. I’ll be right back; you guys should go eat,” Reese shouts over her shoulder as she carries Sky behind a screen set up in a corner of the restaurant. “Don’t forget about the red eggs!”

They eat quickly before Mom and Dad come over to enlist Ryan and Ning into taking pictures on everyone’s phones and tablets. Sky remains a good sport being passed from grandparent to grandparent to now god-grandparents, and Ryan doesn’t fail to catch Mom’s wistful, cautiously hopeful smile as she supports Sky’s head.

Finally, after everyone’s eaten their fill, the party ends. There’s a long line of overjoyed relatives from both sides of the family taking their time thanking Reese and Nora for the invitation and angling for another minute with Sky, so Ryan and Ning hang back.

“What did you say to Sky?” Ryan brushes lint off of Ning’s shoulders, letting his hands drift down Ning’s chest.

Ning catches his hands in his and squeezes. “I tell Sky about their new godfather. I promise them I tell how you become their godfather when they older, and I also tell them you not godfather until after hundred days, not because you don’t want them, but because you too afraid to love them too much. Oh, and I also promise them I will keep you from being too scared.”

Ryan hums, suddenly shy. “That was very nice of you, but…”

He watches Ning’s face go from pensive to gentle, open. Loving, trusting, _confident._ In _him._ In _him_ , to take on this responsibility that feels a little too close to a future he never let himself imagine and to be ready for it and to do it well.

He bumps his shoulder into Ning’s. “Why’d you say it in Mandarin? The only Chinese that baby’s going to know is Cantonese; Reese’s parents will make sure of it.”

“My Cantonese not good yet, don’t know how to say. I learn, then say to them again, happy?”

Ryan quickly looks around to check for spectators; everyone’s still focused on Sky, so he sneaks a kiss. “With you? Always.”

—

“Morning, baby,” Ryan says, entering the bedroom with a plate of sizzling dumplings just as Ning’s waking up.

Ning sits up and sleepily grabs at him. “Good morning.” He manages to curl a hand around Ryan’s hip before Ryan darts away, laughing.

“I’m holding food, you dick! I’ll kill you if you make me drop the plate.” When Ning reaches for him again, Ryan shakes his head fondly. “Asshole.”

“So mean, always calling me names,” Ning yawns, pushing away the sheets as Ryan cautiously gets on the bed. “Why did you bring them here?”

Ryan brandishes a fork as he gets on Ning’s lap. Ning straightens up, suddenly wide awake. “I wanted to feed you brunch in bed.”

“You make these yourself?”

Ryan follows Ning’s gaze to the dumplings. The creases are uneven, the filling threatens to spill out because he overloaded them, and they’re a little burnt on the bottom because he didn’t turn off the stove in time. “Yeah.” He bites his lip. “Sorry they’re so ugly.”

Ning closes his hand around Ryan’s wrist, guides his hand into spearing a dumpling, and rotates it as he examines it. “I think they’re sexy, actually.” Ning then brings the dumpling to his mouth, hand still wrapped around Ryan’s wrist, and takes a bite, eyes on him the whole time. He lets out a little moan as he chews. “Like you.”

“Okay, let’s not go that far.” Ryan helps himself to one. “You sweet talker, always so smooth.”

“Again with the name-calling,” Ning accuses, but he’s grinning.

“What would you prefer, honey? Baby, darling, sweetheart? Love of my life?”

“Husband,” Ning says softly, eyes shining. “One day.”

Ryan carefully sets the plate down next to them, fork dropping on the plate with a clatter. Their lips meet in a lingering kiss, heartbreakingly sweet.

“One day,” he echoes, his heart full. “I’d like that.”

—

They wait until September to go to Beijing, when it isn’t so hot. Incidentally, it’s also the same month Ryan and Ning met for the first time so many years ago, and because Ning is a romantic (“Like you aren’t—the _tattoo_ ”), they spend the first day watching _The Butterfly Lovers_ in an actual opera house. Ryan splits his attention between watching the opera and admiring the architecture. Since it’s Beijing opera instead of Cantonese opera, and thus performed in Pekingese, Ryan understands even less of it than the first time they saw it.

Afterward, Ryan tries local mooncake, his first non-Cantonese mooncake ever, and likes it. Telling Ning that earns him a smile, which still has the ability to devastate him. He knows it always will.

He doesn’t meet Ning’s parents until two days later, after they’ve both slept through most of the first day following the opera and half of the second, because Ryan thinks meeting his parents jet-lagged and anxious is a terrible idea.

“Why not just drink five cups of coffee?” Ning teases, yawning after they spent the four hours they were awake on the second day walking the streets of his neighborhood and trying all the street food. At least they managed to wait until nighttime to sleep today.

“Excuse you, I haven’t done that in, like, two months,” Ryan yawns back. “I don’t understand why you were so eager to ‘win over my parents’ or whatever. I’m terrified to death. Well… actually, I do. My parents were easy. You knew they loved you seven years ago.”

“I still worry because maybe they hate me after I left.”

“You had nothing to worry about.”

“I didn’t know then.” Ning grows serious. “Hey. My parents are warming up to me loving a man. If they don’t like it… well. Just know I will defend you.”

“Ning—”

“Not joking. I choose you, always. They can’t—if they care at all about me being happy—”

“Ning, I would _never_ ask you to choose.”

“I know. I choose on my own.” He presses a kiss to Ryan’s ear. Softly, “I’m choosing my happiness.”

“We need to get back to this later when I’m not so sleep-deprived,” Ryan yawns again. “They’re your family.”

“You are, too.” Ning kisses his nose.

Ryan gawks at him. “You’re not allowed to say things like that when I’m tired, understand me? Because I’m too sleepy for what I want to do to you.”

“Go to sleep, bǎobèi. You do what you want to me when we wake up.”

“That’s a promise,” Ryan says, before falling asleep.

—

Ryan is extremely thankful Ning’s parents speak English, which saves him the humiliation of trying to pronounce ‘Auntie’ and ‘Uncle’ in Mandarin. Their private room in the fancy restaurant is fairly big; the table seats eight, making their party of four seem all the smaller.

Seated between Ning and Ning’s mother, Ryan grips his chair with his hands, cringing at how awkwardly he stood in the doorway upon laying eyes on Ning’s parents only minutes before, until Ning gently pushed him into the room and he tripped over his own feet, causing Ning’s parents to rise out of concern.

“Are you _sure_ they don’t secretly want me to call them Mr. and Mrs. Qi?” Ryan whispers, as Ning’s parents order their food. He studies them as they do, trying to figure out what Ning gets from who; Ning clearly gets his cheekbones from his mother, his nose from his father, and his height from both, though his mother is slender and his father broad-shouldered.

As Ning’s mother laughs quietly with the waiter, Ning’s father smiles from next to her, rapping his knuckles on the table in agreement before running his hand through his gray hair, his wedding ring glinting in the light. Ryan’s breath catches when he realizes he knows what Ning’s going to look like in thirty years. Ning throws in a joke of his own to the waiter, leaning in as he does, gripping an edge of Ryan’s chair to support his weight.

Then the waiter leaves, closing the door, and Ryan gulps, all the more aware that it’s just him and Ning’s family now.

Ning rolls his eyes, covering Ryan’s hand with his. “If they say call them ‘Auntie’ and ‘Uncle,’ they mean it. Don’t worry so much, okay?”

Ryan heaves a sigh. “Okay.”

“Breathe. You’re doing fine.” Ning turns Ryan’s hand over and squeezes it.

All four of them blush when Ning’s parents catch them holding hands. Ryan starts pulling away, but Ning holds on, and then Ning’s mother pats Ryan on the shoulder, making him startle.

“Ryan, Ning say your fashion company is now five years old. Congratulations!” Ning’s mother thankfully pretends she didn’t notice, though her smile does widen when her gaze drops to their clasped hands, so Ryan forces himself to relax, angling his body more toward her.

Ryan runs his free hand through his hair awkwardly. “Oh, uh, thank you! I can’t believe it myself.”

“You should. Ning says you very hardworking,” Ning’s father says. “Maybe too much. Your parents tell you to take break?”

Ryan laughs awkwardly. “Haha, yeah. All the time.”

“But you don’t listen,” Ning’s mother teases, and okay, that’s familiar. Ryan relaxes some more. “Ning is same.”

“I am better now,” Ning protests with a soft smile at Ryan, pressing his thigh against Ryan’s bouncing one and removing his hand from Ryan’s to rest it behind him, his warmth grounding and comforting.

“Not before.” Ning’s father shakes his head fondly. “Years, he just work all day, all night. Now you here, he relax more. Good.”

“Oh, well, I relax more with him, too.” Ryan chances a shy smile at Ning, who smiles back.

It’s easier than he expects after that. The only Chinese food Ryan’s ever been exposed to is Cantonese cuisine, so the other three take delight in teaching him about Beijing cuisine.

Ning’s mother wrinkles her nose when Ryan describes the way Peking duck is served in New York, relaxing into a smile when Ryan says it doesn’t compare to the Peking duck in Beijing. A tiny part of him cynically wonders if she ordered it because he’s a foreigner, but Ning says it was his favorite as a child, so Ryan makes himself stop reading into everything. He wins over Ning’s father by regularly pouring everyone more tea, eyes darting to everyone’s cups every minute or so, while being completely aware that it’s overkill.

All in all, it goes pretty well for the first time Ryan’s ever met a Chinese boyfriend’s Chinese parents. They keep to safe topics, especially bonding over worrying about Ning’s workaholic tendencies, which turns Ning’s face a lovely pink the whole time.

When they finish eating, Ning’s mother unlocks her phone. “I want you two in picture.”

“Oh, okay.” Ryan stands next to Ning, half an arm’s length apart.

“Closer, closer,” Ning’s mother admonishes, waving them together impatiently.

Ryan moves an inch, just as Ning does.

“Closer, aren’t you dating?” she teases, though her voice is a little shaky. Ryan’s heart loosens in that moment because she sounds so much like Mom when she was just beginning to accept him. It gives him hope.

They both shuffle toward each other again until there’s a hand’s length between them. Ning’s mother still isn’t satisfied, making even bigger sweeping motions with her free hand.

“Here, I help,” Ning’s father says, after Ning and Ryan have been standing in practically the same spots for a minute. He gently pushes them closer, until their shoulders are pressed together, even going as far as wrapping Ning’s arm around Ryan’s waist, making Ryan and Ning blush.

Ning’s mother snaps the picture and takes out a selfie stick. “We also take together?”

“Of course.” Ryan’s already moving away to make space. Then, tentatively, he adds, “Auntie.”

She breaks into a wide smile. “No, no, stay! We go to you. You two look so good like that, I don’t want you to change.” Auntie squishes next to him. Ning extends his arm so he’s embracing her as well, while Uncle steps in next to her and completes the group side embrace. Ryan’s the tallest, so he’s delegated the role of holding the selfie stick. “One, two, three! …Okay, two more.”

“You make good choice.” Auntie nods approvingly at Ning after they break apart. “Knows to take more than one picture without asking, takes care of parents, takes care of _you._ ”

“Well, I’m no barbarian,” Ryan teases. “Would you mind if I send those to my parents?”

“Here, I add you on WeChat,” Auntie says. “Maybe one day we can come to New York to meet them?”

His parents are fierce supporters of Hong Kong independence, and Ning told him his dad had been in the Chinese military, so Ryan's pretty sure Ning’s parents have the same opinions about Hong Kong as Hui Wen's, which is to say they all think Hong Kong is a part of China, but that’s a problem for another day. He’s just going to call today a victory and leave it at that.

When the bill comes, everyone reaches for the check, and Ning ends up grabbing it, but at least it didn’t fall in the hands of Ning’s parents; Ryan doesn’t know how to fight them for it. Ryan then tugs at Ning’s sleeve, drawing his attention away from the bill. He smiles at Ning when Ning looks at him. Even though Ning’s eyebrows scrunch up in confusion, he smiles back, which is when Ryan makes his move, plucking the bill straight out of Ning’s hand, with the added bonus of impressing Ning’s parents.

They all laugh when Ryan brandishes the bill proudly, Ning sheepishly. Ryan lets out a sigh of relief and revises today to be a major victory.

Before they leave for Ning’s apartment, Auntie makes Ning promise to take Ryan sightseeing. Auntie and Uncle then pull Ning aside, and they talk quietly for a few moments.

Then Auntie calls him over and surprisingly gives him a hug. “I am happy to see Ning so happy. So clear to see you make him happy, happiest I see in years. You are very serious, yes?”

“Ma,” Ning protests, face red. “I told you—”

“I sure hope so,” Ryan cuts in because he can’t resist making Ning blush even more.

“I like you.” Uncle gruffly pats him on the back. “We see you more before you leave, okay?”

“Yes, next time, you come to our place. I cook for you.”

“Oh! Yes, okay, that’d be great. It was great to meet you.” Ryan keeps up the smiling while they pick up some jiānbǐng (煎饼) as a snack for later before hailing a cab, completely collapsing into Ning’s arms as soon as they’re through the door of Ning’s apartment and have kicked it closed. “ _Whew._ Oh my god. That was scary.”

“You were amazing. They love you. _I_ love you.”

“I love you, too. They’re nice.” Still in each other’s arms just inside the entrance, Ning walks backward and pulls him to the sofa. Ryan lays his head in Ning’s lap, and Ning automatically starts rubbing soothing circles around his tattoo. “What were you guys talking about?”

Ning’s face heats up again for the umpteenth time today, and Ryan fills with glee because oh, how the Lazy Susan has finally turned. “They ask if I think about marriage. If I will move to New York after.”

“Oh. It _would_ have to be in America, right.” Ryan halts the hand in his hair with his own and clasps them together. Lightly, he says, “I still feel like that’s something we should talk about later, when we’ve been together a little longer, right? Because technically, while a lot has happened, it’s been just over four months.”

“I don’t disagree. But they worry because I will be forty soon and…”

“Yeah,” Ryan sighs. “What do _you_ think?”

“You tell me first.”

“Well, I used to think being single at thirty-two would mean I wasn’t ever going to get married, even though I kind of wanted to be. Or maybe it was mostly because my parents wanted me to be married, like yours. And now… I find it easier every day to imagine life as your husband, but that’s just the day-to-day little stuff, you know? Like, I’m an idiot because until you mentioned it, I didn’t even think… I always just assumed it’d be in New York, but I mean, like. Your home is here. I loved having you with me in New York, but I also know you missed Beijing a lot.”

“Beijing is home, but _you_ are also home.” When Ryan’s jaw drops at that, Ning shakes his head fondly and chuckles quietly. “How do you not already know that, bǎobèi?”

Ryan laughs sheepishly. “I’m still getting used to you saying things like that. You sap.” He brings Ning’s free hand to his cheek. “You’re my home, too. Wait, don’t distract me. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Ning hums as he cradles Ryan’s head, thinking. “Well, you know I never even think about marriage in any other way but to a woman for long time because isn’t otherwise possible here. I know I would have to move, which I am a little afraid of—Beijing is very familiar, New York not as much. But I do not want a future without you.”

“Good thing we have time to figure it out, then.” Ryan kisses his hand, the very center of his palm. “Maybe we can talk more seriously about splitting time between here and New York every year? I do have some complicated feelings about being here, but… I like being here with you.” He pauses. “Also, I now get why you wanted Chinese food when you were in New York for the first time because I’m suddenly craving white people American food.”

“We can get pizza later, if you want.” Ning bites his lip. “Really? You’re… you want to come back?”

“I’d go anywhere with you,” Ryan says honestly. “You don’t think I would?”

Ning exhales. “I guess… I am a little nervous you wouldn’t like it here.”

“I like seeing how you grew up, your favorite places, trying your favorite foods… even meeting your family. I just like learning more about you.” Ryan squeezes his hand. “Plus, it’s not like I’d just be trudging along here, just to make you happy—I travel for work sometimes, and I have some family in Hong Kong I need to visit at some point, so I do have other reasons for coming here. But for now, let’s just figure out how to coordinate our schedules for the next few months, since those are pretty clear.”

Ning kisses his nose. “Thank you. You are so patient with me.”

“You’re so patient with _me._ This here, what I’m doing,” Ryan says, gesturing at himself, “is nothing.”

“Wrong. You,” Ning says, as he catches both of Ryan’s hands with his, dipping low to kiss him, “are everything.”

—

Ning tries to take him to the usual tourist spots, but his parents have to take over after the second time someone almost recognizes Ning. Ryan and Ning’s parents never talk about anything serious on these excursions, but they do get more comfortable with each other; Auntie and Uncle’s teasing makes him less homesick for his own parents, and Auntie helps him add some of her own recipes to the cookbook Ning gave him.

Instead, Ning shows him around the neighborhood he grew up in, the café he used to spend afternoons stressing about his application for the Central Academy of Drama, the park he used to roam on the rare days he let himself think about his future and how— _if_ —being gay had a place in it. Ning paints such a guarded, quiet portrait of his younger self that Ryan sometimes feels like Ning’s talking about _him,_ and he wonders if they were ever so different in the first place.

Before they know it, they’re halfway through October, and it’s their last night together before Ryan has to go home and Ning has to start filming again.

Ning rocks into Ryan with all the patience in the world, each thrust sweet and slow. Normally, Ryan would be clawing at his back and squirming, ever impatient as Ning continued his teasing, cursing him out all the while.

Tonight, though, he’s quiet except for some gasps, eyes on Ning’s as Ning makes love to him, clutching Ning’s shoulders. His grip tightens when Ning gives him a particularly strong, slow thrust, but he forces himself to relax. His toes curl from where his feet sit flat on the mattress, his knees bracketing Ning’s frame.

“No complain tonight?” Ning murmurs. Despite how aroused they both are, Ning’s as subdued as he is. “You always say too slow.”

“Nope. Tonight you get a Ryan who’s completely in touch with his feelings and very sad he’s leaving his boyfriend tomorrow.” He gives him a sad smile. “Sorry.”

“What I say about refer in third person?” Ning keeps at his slow and steady pace. “I’m sorry, too.”

“You already made me come so many times in the last one-and-a-half days _alone_ that you’ve _literally_ milked me dry. Like that time you didn’t let me touch myself? How would you like it if I did that to you, hm?”

Ning smiles. “I just want to make sure you won’t be looking at any other men.”

Ryan rolls his eyes. “Baby, if you think I’m going to look at anyone other than you for the rest of my life, you and I have been experiencing the last few months _very_ differently. Also, beard burn _hurts;_ you need to remember to shave. I’ll be feeling this on the flight.”

“You always say that about my facial hair, but then when in middle of things, you tell me you love that I have. Only after you hate. I don’t shave, you have thoughts about it; I do shave, you have even more thoughts about it. You are never happy!”

“Listen,” Ryan laughs, poking Ning in the chest, “if you think being in bed with the love of my life is not making me the happiest person on earth right now, you’re fucking wrong.” He pauses. “Well, I’d be happier if you weren’t trying to kill me with sex.”

“So you also would just leave at four?” Ning raises an eyebrow. He looks way too coherent, so Ryan deliberately clenches around him, just to see his eyelids flutter. “I go away, then, since don’t want any more.”

“You were actually counting?” Ryan crosses his ankles around Ning’s waist just as Ning starts to pull away and slings his arms around Ning’s neck. “Now, now, let’s not be so hasty,” he murmurs with a slight lilt that Ning doesn’t yet know he’s into, unconsciously licking his lips. “Don’t go. Stay a little longer.”

“Good way to die, though,” Ning muses. “Man you love, doing what you love, last thing you see.”

“Yeah, I totally agree. Just don’t—”

“Don’t worry, I never tell anyone how. Especially not your parents.” He pauses. “Or mine.”

“Reese and Janet would probably know.”

Ning stops to rest his entire weight on his elbows bracketing Ryan’s head, wrinkling his nose, and Ryan just has to kiss it. He just does. “Weird to mention your best friends right now, I think.”

“Would you rather talk about handsome men instead?” Ryan gasps. “Oh my _god,_ how have we _never_ talked about celebrity crushes? Isn’t Godfrey Gao a dreamboat?”

Ning scrunches up his nose again. “I don’t like that, either. I rather just focus on _you._ ” With that, he kisses Ryan hard and starts fucking him in earnest.

“Don’t worry. You’re still my top celebrity crush,” Ryan manages to pant out, though if all he has to do to get Ning to hurry up is make him jealous… “First out of ten.” He lifts up to kiss him back. Because he’s just that good, Ning moves his arms into the space Ryan’s head just vacated to better support him. Ning’s arms don’t even fucking tremble; that’s just how strong he is, which is so fucking hot. With that realization, Ryan gives in and wraps his legs more tightly around Ning’s waist, which is, of course, when Ning slows right back down.

Ryan’s head falls back into Ning’s hands with a groan.

Ning laughs breathlessly when Ryan’s cock twitches between them. “You knew that was coming.”

“God, I wish that were me.” As Ning pushes in again, Ryan watches Ning’s already dilated pupils dilate even more and accuses, “I’m starting to think this _going-slower-than-even-the-slowest-snail_ thing is more of a _you_ thing than a _wanting-to-prolong-the-moment-because-you-don’t-get-the-chance-often_ thing.” He glares at Ning with frustration.

“Got me,” Ning grins. “And why not? So long you make this face because you don’t like me, now you make face because of what I do to you. So beautiful like this, glow all over. I wish I could have you like this all the time.”

“Please, no,” Ryan gasps out, as Ning starts kissing his neck. “I would actually die. Like really, really die.” He only realizes just now that they’re both covered in sweat because his hands can’t find purchase on Ning’s ass. “Ning, please…”

“Just little longer,” Ning says, but he’s panting as hard as Ryan. “Wait.”

“I waited seven years. I’m not waiting seven more.”

With that, he holds onto Ning for dear life and flips them over, heart pounding because they almost fell off and the bed really needs to be bigger and he hasn’t dared to try this move since his twenties and certainly not on the love of his life, who has at least twenty pounds on him.

“Oh, fuck. That’s good.” He adjusts himself so that he’s sitting upright on him, revelling in Ning’s wide eyes. His pupils are so dilated that Ryan can’t even see his irises anymore.

Ning runs his hands down Ryan’s sides, settling them on his hips. “This what I wait for.”

“Why not just tell me? I’d be happy to ride you into oblivion.” Ryan sets his pace hard and fast, skin slapping against skin. “Just because—I don’t like—people assuming—I bottom doesn’t mean—I—don’t—enjoy—it. Fuck. Come on, honey.” He dips down and kisses him hard, until they’re way too far gone and can only pant into each other’s mouths. “You feel so good inside me. Help me. I want it harder.”

Ning doesn’t, of course, even though he’s clearly getting more impatient with the little thrusts his hips have going on. “I think… those men you tell me about, the ones who assume you do only this, the ones you _don't_ do this for. They miss out. I feel a little bad for them.”

“Well, I ended up topping some of them instead, and you know from experience how good that is, so don't feel too bad,” Ryan retorts dryly with a roll of his hips. Then he stares at him. “How are you okay with talking about the past men I've been with—guys who’ve actually _been with me_ like this—but not Godfrey Gao?”

“All those men are past now. Means you chose _me,_ ” Ning says with a moan. “Godfrey Gao, no guarantee.”

“True,” Ryan concedes, sighing. “I guess I'm just going to have to settle.”

All Ning does is moan again, stilling Ryan’s hips so he can fuck up into him instead. He knocks Ryan’s hand out of the way when he tries to jerk himself off, taking over and stroking him just the way he likes. Ning nips his right earlobe, and then it’s all over.

Ryan collapses on top of him, his entire body shaking as he has what feels like the longest orgasm of his life. By the time he comes to, Ning’s stroking across the planes of his back, soothing his still quivering body through the aftershocks. He’s also murmuring things in Ryan’s ear, but they're in Mandarin, so he just closes his eyes and listens for a while, marveling at how their heartbeats slow down in sync.

Despite his yawn, Ryan says, a bit hoarsely, “I don’t want to sleep. Can we just… I don’t know, clean up and hang out? Until I have to go?”

“You’ll be so tired on plane.”

“So I’ll just sleep there. Better than being awake and getting sad about getting farther and farther away from you with every minute. I know you have to film later today, but…”

“Is okay. Later, I have one cup of coffee for every time in two days doing… you know. Five.”

“Wouldn’t that technically be three on your end?”

“Five for you, though.” Ning gives him a grin, all cheeky and sex-drunk. “Glad not four, hm?”

“Yeah, though I think I’m done for, like, the next month at least. But once I’m good to go again, I’ll just bring out this toy I stopped using because I keep forgetting to replace the batteries and use it as is because its fastest speed is now Slow As Fuck. But hey, at least you know why I’m naming it after you.”

“Haha. Funny. Bet I still go slower than that.” Ning sobers soon after, though, as they take turns cleaning up in the bathroom.

It’s too hard to keep up the brave face and deflect, so Ryan doesn’t bother as he walks over to where Ning’s staring out the window.

Letting out a quivery sigh, he hugs Ning from behind, and they sway together slightly. “It’s not either of our faults, but I’m sad. I hate that I have to leave you. We’ve spent more time apart than together since we met. That’s not fair.” He presses a kiss behind Ning’s left ear, right on the tattoo. “But you know what?”

Ning turns his head to face him, nuzzles his nose. “What?” he asks quietly, his voice full of sorrow, breath shaky.

Ryan’s face reddens, but he looks Ning right in the eye. “I’m sad, but I’m not scared. I’m not scared about you not coming back to me. Because I trust and believe in your love for me.”

“I’m not scared, either. I know you love me as much as I love you.” Ning smiles softly at him. His smile is still sad, but at least it’s a little brighter. “You going home is nothing like when I go home seven years ago. I _will_ come back to you.”

“Really? You’re not scared?”

“You not believe me?”

“No, I just. I just wanted to hear you say it. You put on a brave face a lot of the time,” Ryan says, the realization hitting him hard as he says it. He presses his face into Ning’s neck, breathing in his scent. “It must be… tiring.”

Ning looks at him. “I look brave to you right now?”

“Oh, you’re plenty brave. Coming back to New York and demanding I work with you again just like that, after all these years.” They share a quiet laugh. “You sure had a lot of nerve, Ning.”

“You know me—once I know what I want, I go after it.” Ning kisses his hair. “Yes, tiring. But not in front of you. Not anymore.”

“I know.” The sun’s starting to rise, a sliver of light tracing the length of the bed. The lump in Ryan’s throat keeps growing, but he just swallows it down. “Tell me what you were saying earlier. Don’t leave anything out.”

Ning reddens, but obliges.

—

Ryan finishes checking his suitcase for the fifth time and yawns. “I don’t want to go.”

“This time not too bad because I am off in December after Toronto,” Ning says, trying to be cheery.

“Plus we have practice dealing with this. We’ll be okay,” Ryan agrees, mirroring him, before giving up the façade. His face crumples, even more so when Ning cradles his face with his hands, using his thumbs to wipe away the few tears that have managed to escape so far. “We’re so bad at this.”

They hug, and Ning smooths down the wrinkles of Ryan’s shirt one last time. “You need to go down for taxi.”

“I know. I’ll miss you. Wǒ ài nǐ.”

“I love you,” Ning echoes. “Ngo oi leih.”

Ryan walks toward the door, but right before he puts his hand on the doorknob, he turns back around. “Wait, wait, just one more kiss.”

Ning cradles Ryan’s face in his hands gently and presses their mouths together one last time. Ryan lets go of his suitcase and hugs him tight, kissing back with all he has—all his love, his yearning, his promises and hopes and dreams for the future they’ll have together. That they _do_ have together.

Finally, Ning breaks the kiss, leaning his forehead against Ryan’s. He whispers, “I hate, but you need to go.”

Ryan closes his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah.”

They clasp hands one more time, and Ryan makes his way to the elevator, steeling himself for the next six weeks of only being able to see and talk to Ning by phone or WeChat. He wishes Ning could come with him to the airport, but then their goodbye would have to be public, and this private one was hard enough to get through already.

Six weeks. It’ll be their longest separation yet. He already misses him, and he’s only just left the building.

He walks two streets away, his steps slow and heavy. The sounds of his suitcase’s wheels rolling across the pavement are grating, but he latches onto that irritation eagerly, keen to distract himself. At least there aren’t that many people around because it’s still early morning, so he doesn’t feel too self-conscious about his suitcase making a racket.

Just as he’s trying to wave down a taxi, though—

“Wait!”

Ryan turns around, face breaking into a smile and heart rate quickening at the sight of Ning jogging toward him, out of breath. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees some pedestrians stop to look, but all Ryan can focus on is the plain black tee Ning clearly pulled on two seconds before running out the door, his exposed midriff. Ning’s hair is still a mess, and his face is slightly red, but he’s never looked more handsome in Ryan’s eyes.

Aware that they’re in public, Ryan wraps his arms around himself to keep himself from reaching out. “Did I forget something?”

“No, I just change my mind about airport.” Ning slows his jog to a walk as he gets closer, pulling his shirt down. Then he bumps their shoulders together and takes hold of Ryan’s suitcase. “Can I still come with you?”

Ryan gives him a small smile, and the look they share is almost as good as a kiss. “Of course. Th—”

“齐先生，齐先生！我们超爱您的电影！” They turn around to see two young women sprinting toward them. “不好意思，可以和您合影吗？” _[“Mr. Qi, Mr. Qi! We love your movies! Sorry to bother you, but could we take a picture?”]_

Ning masks his irritation well. “当然可以。” He beckons the two fans to stand next to him. _[“Of course.”]_

Ryan extends a hand for the phone that the woman on the left takes out, but she pays him no mind and takes out a selfie stick. He steps out of the frame of the picture, watching the two women smile on either side of Ning.

After they take the picture, Ning hesitates. “你们……能帮我和他拍张照吗？” _[“Could you… help take a picture of me and him?]”_

“他是谁？” one of them asks. _[“Who is he?”]_

“我的……朋友，我的榜样,” Ning replies with a smile, eyes on Ryan. “他今天要离开了。” _[“My… friend, my role model. He’s leaving today.”]_

As one of the women takes Ryan’s phone and the other arranges them, Ryan murmurs, “What are you saying about me?”

Ning slings an arm around his shoulder. “Only good things, I promise.”

As they stand together, waiting for their picture to be taken, Ryan takes everything in—the cool air, the bustling city that isn’t all too different from home, the warmth from where Ning’s body is touching his.

They exchange a quick glance, and he notices crinkles starting to form in the corners of Ning's eyes, suddenly realizing— _knowing_ —he'll get to see them grow.

He’ll get to play frustrating games of tag via chains of voicemails on busy days that make even a two-minute phone call impossible, rack up loads of frequent flyer miles from regularly flying between New York City and Beijing, and to Ning’s dismay, slide into a bigger bed next to him in the Beijing apartment formerly known as Ning’s because they’re now used to the bigger bed in the NYC apartment that used to be just Ryan’s.

He’ll get to be dragged by Sky as much as he does by their moms; to fret over the peacemaking efforts he and Ning will have to be constantly making between their parents when Ning’s parents come to visit, who basically only agree on the fact that their sons work too much; to have his hand crushed by Ning because Ning’s squeezing it too hard as the tattoo artist carefully adds a second butterfly next to the first, while Ryan draws butterflies on the back of Ning’s hand with his free hand, bouncing his knee as he waits for his turn.

He’ll be overwhelmed with shock and giddiness and adrenaline when Ning pulls away from their embrace after a long absence to get down on one knee, and the weight of the ring on his finger will feel like home as soon as he puts it on. He’ll laugh over Ning’s shoulder as Ning adds more things on Pinterest for their definitely butterfly-themed wedding that won’t have a set date any time soon because of the daunting logistics. He’ll smile awkwardly every time Ning’s mother says something he doesn’t understand during her cooking tutorial Skype sessions that he sits through willingly anyway because Ryan knows Ning misses her food more than he admits. Ning will shove Ryan away with a groan when he starts listing off their concerns during a late-night whispered conversation about maybe having children, which is a topic they keep going around in circles about because their parents keep bringing it up, even though they haven’t even figured out the marriage issue yet.

There’ll be lovemaking sessions during which Ning _still_ teases him for hours and new pet names from Ning under the guise of ‘helping Ryan learn more Chinese’ (like Ryan doesn’t know Ning’s just being smooth again, _honestly_ ). Ryan will get his revenge as he studies Mandarin in secret with the sole purpose of seeing Ning’s jaw drop in delighted surprise. Then they’ll both spend many hours on YouTube learning Cantonese together in an effort to surprise Ryan’s parents one day.

They’ll be there to watch each other’s hair turn gray, bellies go soft, skin get wrinkly. To hear each other’s voices get gravelly and raspy, to see each other need glasses, to forget each other’s names. But all the while, there’ll be endless _I love you_ s and _Wǒ ài nǐ_ s and _Ngo oi leih_ s because both will be damned if they let the other ever forget _that._

Their volunteer photographer calls for their attention and gives them three seconds to smile. After taking their photo, she switches over to Ning’s phone. Heart soaring because he knows these are things he’ll get to have, things _they_ will get to have, Ryan takes this chance to look at Ning again, and Ning looks back.

An observation, a declaration of desire, a statement of fact. A promise of future things, and…

A lifetime to cool down, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> up next: engaygement stuff, wedding stuff (including chinese wedding traditions), and kids!!! (in an au where ning moves to ny after they get engaged and he comes out offscreen [when/bc they get married]. i still am not the person to write about ning coming out, but i have really loved writing these two and haven't been able to stop thinking about their future, which is why part 8 is happening ;_; )


	8. future things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Who are you going to meet?”
> 
> Ryan turns and pulls Ning closer to him, knocking Ning’s hands out of the way to button up the rest of the shirt for him. He lets his hands drift from Ning’s chest to his shoulders, then all the way down to Ning’s waist. Ning covers Ryan’s hands with his, memorizing the feel of Ryan’s ring under his fingers, and Ryan’s gaze moves to their clasped hands, his smile coy. “A man.”
> 
> “On our anniversary? Should I be jealous?” Ning asks. Ryan’s smile turns soft, but he doesn’t look up, so Ning lifts his chin and kisses him deeply, until Ryan’s gasping into his mouth, hands urgently roaming his back. He looks dazed when Ning breaks the kiss and feigns studying him contemplatively. “Mm, I don’t think so.”
> 
> Ryan’s smile grows even as he rolls his eyes, overtaking his whole face, the blush on his cheeks warm and lovely. “You don’t have to be so smug about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is late but happy chaturgay!!!!!!!! my beta got too busy about 2/3 into this (she edited 100k of this in total tho! what a champ!), so the last 1/3 of this and all of part 9 were only edited by me
> 
> \- **warning for ch8: this chapter includes references to homophobic violence when ryan's father is trying on the outfit ryan designed for him**
> 
> DISCLAIMER: i don't consider part 8 as part of the 'main'/'canon' fic. it deals with future things like ryan and ning getting married, which means ning comes out offscreen. i feel like i've said this in a thousand diff places alrdy (tho i've forgotten where oops), but i don't want to write him coming out bc besides me not knowing what it's like to be gay in china, to my knowledge, very VERY few mainland chinese celebs/public figures have ever come out. 
> 
> at this point in the fic, ning is famous in china + still working there (at least occasionally, less so as he becomes more famous not just in china, but around the world, and starts taking projects elsewhere) + still flying back to visit his parents yearly (he's basically moved to the u.s. by this point in the fic, which may play a part in sheltering him from some of it, but idk). i just really wanted to write about them building a life together, so that is what i focused on.
> 
> i would say by the beginning of this epilogue, ryan and ning have been appearing in public often together, which has led to some speculation about their relationship, tho ning is believed to be single, while ryan's referred to his boyfriend on social media before, but has never posted any pics of the bf/of them together. whenever ning is asked about ryan and their relationship/whether it's romantic, ning neither confirms nor denies. by the beginning of the epilogue, he's also spending half his [free] time in ny and half in beijing, and by the time they release/post engaygement photos [i.e. coming out via announcing they're getting married], ning's moved in with ryan in nyc when he's not on the road, and while it's not mentioned, he becomes a u.s. citizen after they marry/moves permanently to the u.s.
> 
> anyway whooooooooo with this we are officially over 100k i guess! what am i doing!!!!! jsyk i am now working on the final part (i promise), which is just a bunch of different scenes that either took place in ning's pov or outside the time frame of the fic etc. i've decided i am in fact going to try for a significant number for the fic's word count, and that number is **131,452.0** , so if you ever find your way to this fic again and the word count is at that #, you'll know i'll have finally finished editing it. funnily enough, i initially rejected this number (it's just the orig number's 520 and 1314 switched) for the final word count bc i didn't think i'd even get to 80k (and it was at 42k when i first sent it to my beta). and now look! 
> 
> EDIT: bc i ramble, i am going for 143,520 now.
> 
> EDIT EDIT: i had to go for 152,043 instead (it's a metaphor)
> 
> anyway re: part 8, this orig was going to be a bunch of loosely connected cute future scenes, but a subplot wormed its way in, so there's some semblance of plot somewhere, but later on it's kinda just plotless again, i.e. pure fluff. this got longer than i expected, like i think last i checked it's a little over 30k? and bc i spent way longer writing this than i expected (i've been working on it while posting all the other chapters), i need time to finish part 9, so i may not post that until two weeks after posting this one, which has about two more short scenes and a longer final scene left (bonus scenes/stuff that didn't fit into the plot's timeline/etc). it depends. my goal is to post it in a week and then finally focus on editing the whole thing, but who knows. i keep thinking i have no more ideas and then i get another @_@ but i am FIRM on the final word count, understand @me? 
> 
> EDIT: i was unable to be firm thanks so much for sticking with me!
> 
> \- link to masterpost: [here](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/tagged/behind-the-scenes-masterpost)
> 
> \- link to notes: [[collapsible version](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/behindthescenes)] // [[non-collapsible (long) version](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/behindbehindthescenes)] 
> 
> \- link to reblog: [here](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/tagged/behind-the-scenes-8)
> 
> \- link to gaylist: [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLtStoH71eEUsdLEBRosaLNTcCKQ4dlULX)
> 
> no quick notes this time (other than the disclaimer above) bc this part is too long for that, so it might be easier to read the notes as you go along. well, except for a group chat ("a conversasian") w/ a bunch of audio clips they send each other-that's supposed to imitate wechat

_two years later_

Ryan groans even as he pours himself some tea from Reese’s proffered kettle. “Not knowing what to order for a pizza party is _not_ an emergency, Reese. Which I also find odd, considering how you always do the ordering.”

“Not for my two-year-old, though. What if Sky ends up hating pizza?”

Ryan snorts. “Like that’ll happen.” He stands up with his mug. “I have to get back to work, okay? I have a lot to do before Ning gets back next week.”

Reese grabs his arm. “Wait!” she blurts out, eyes widening in… panic? “I’ll—If you don’t—I’ll get pineapple!”

Ryan blinks and stares at her intently, but she doesn’t break. Then, slowly, as he sits back down, he says, “That’s funny. I thought you just said you were going to order pizza. With pineapple.”

Reese doesn’t back down from his stare, nodding gravely. “That’s right. You heard me. I’ll get everyone pineapple on pizza.”

“So like… are we in the darkest timeline? Or are you just trying to bring it upon us?” Ryan pauses. “Please don’t say _me_ getting the pizza will create the darkest timeline.”

Reese scoffs. “As if you have that kind of power. It’s obviously Dex. You know he ate rice with cheese the other day?”

“That doesn’t sound too bad.”

“Oh, right, you actually _like_ cheese. Maybe this _is_ the darkest timeline.” Reese wrinkles her nose. “Wait, did I forget to mention he didn’t melt it? That he ripped up a slice of cheese onto his rice and ate it just like that? Apparently, he’s been doing it since high school.”

“Ugh, you just destroyed over seven years of ignorant bliss,” Ryan groans, though his mind is already somewhere else, thinking about a different seven years. An unhappier one that had broken its streak in the best way possible.

He traces the handle of his mug with a finger. Ning’s away doing press for a new movie, but at least this time he’s only on the other side of the country, not the world, though ending their nightly calls still hasn’t gotten easier. It’s only been three months, but it’s still their longest separation since the six-month stint Ning did last year, and he’s aching for Ning’s return.

“Ryan? Helloooooo?” Reese waves her hand in front of Ryan’s face.

Ryan reluctantly tears himself from his thoughts. “Yeah?”

“I _said,_ I’m going to order the pizza.”

“Fine. If Sky ends up hating pizza because of this, it’s your fault. I need to go back to my office. I have work to do.”

Just as he gets up again, Reese pulls him back. “Wait, you’re not going to fight me about it?”

Ryan starts walking out of the kitchen anyway, Reese tailing him. “What do I care? I have no feelings about pineapple. _You’re_ the one who thinks it shouldn’t exist.”

“It shouldn’t! It’s disgusting!”

“Then why are you ordering it?” Ryan walks in broad strides to his office. He’d laugh about Reese jogging to keep up if he wasn’t so eager to distract himself from thinking about Ning with work. “And why are you chasing me?”

“I’m not chasing you,” Reese calls out, chasing him. “I just want—”

“Since you want to torture everyone with pineapple, including your _beloved child,_ I guess I’ll just have to do the ordering myself,” Ryan says, reaching the door, which is closed for some reason. He’s pretty sure he left it open when Reese pulled him into the kitchen ten minutes ago.

“Wait!” Reese shouts, panicked, diving past him and blocking him from the door with her arms. “If you could just wait _two more minutes_ —”

“Reese, I love you, but I have no time for whatever you’re planning.” Ryan snakes an arm past her and throws the door open. “I swear, if you’re trying to _prank me_ —“

“Fine,” she says, finally moving aside and crossing her arms. “Go ahead and ruin y—”

Ryan takes one step in his office and then stops short.

There’s… a whole _crowd_ of people inside. Janet, Nora with Sky in her arms, Mom, Dad, Dex… practically their entire company is there, perched on one surface or another.

“Hi, Sky!” he greets cheerfully, before turning back to Reese, who’s now fidgeting with the hem of her top. “What on _earth_ is going on here?”

She looks sheepish. Guilty? “Uh. We wanted to have Sky’s birthday party in your office?”

“Okay, this is getting weird,” Ryan says, as he looks at the array of nervous, guilty faces around him. “All of you hate pineapple—”

“—except me,” Dex pipes up, followed by a chorus of groans and a “Damn it, Dex!” from Reese.

“—except Dex, and there’s no way any of you would willingly eat pineapple on pizza, especially not my parents—what are you doing here, by the way?—and they don’t eat pizza anyway—” Ryan looks around the room, immediately zeroing in on a familiar head of hair peeking out from behind Dex and Janet, who are still trying to shuffle that hair behind Ryan’s desk. His hand flies to his mouth as his heart rate quickens, feet frozen in place as he tries to process what he’s seeing. “Oh my god!”

Ning stands up, waving sheepishly. He looks—oh, he looks so beautiful, even with his disheveled hair and days-old stubble that Ryan will be complaining about again soon enough. His breath hitches, his mind only now catching up to the fact that Ning is actually _here._ “Hi, bǎobèi.”

Forgetting his train of thought completely, Ryan runs over to him and hugs him tight, ignoring everyone cheering around them, before pulling back slightly to study Ning’s face. The circles under Ning’s eyes are dark, but his smile is bright. “What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t coming back for another week!”

“Miss you too much, so I just push all interviews early,” Ning explains, hugging him back with one arm. Ryan can barely hear him, what with everyone still cheering.

Ning’s arm still wrapped around his waist, Ryan turns around to face Reese, who’s grinning widely and… she’s started tearing up. Dad has his phone out facing Ryan, and Mom’s hands are clasped together. On top of all _that,_ the room has gone oddly quiet, but he ignores it in favor of focusing on Ning. “Why didn’t you tell—”

Ning removes his arm. Ryan turns back to him, confused as hell, but only really caring about the fact that they’re no longer touching. As he does, he notices three things—more people have whipped their phones out and aimed them at him, everyone has suddenly started cheering, the volume in the room reaching a deafening roar, and—

The phones aren’t aimed at him, Ryan realizes, when it hits him all at once. They’re aimed at him _and Ning,_ and they’re _recording,_ because _Ning is now kneeling,_ and only then does Ryan realize Ning’s had one hand behind his back the entire time.

As if in slow motion, Ryan watches numbly as Janet and Dex behind Ning back away even more to give him space, as Ning now extends that hand to Ryan, opening it to reveal a velvet ring box, as he flicks it open with his other hand. Only now does Ryan realize that Ning’s wearing the outfit he put together for him to wear to that life-changing film screening two years ago, when Ning had brought him to the stage by the wrist.

Ryan covers his dropped jaw with his hand, eyes widening as he takes in the soft, nervous smile on Ning’s face, the shaky hand he runs through his hair in a valiant attempt to smooth it down, the promise so clear in his eyes. His eyes slowly make their way from Ning’s face to his hand, filling with tears and spilling over before he can get a good look at the ring. He scrubs at his eyes uselessly, but the tears just keep coming. “Oh my god,” he says, voice wobbling. “Oh my god.”

Even though Ning’s barely a foot away, he can barely hear Ning over the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears; the crowd has long shushed themselves into silence. Someone from behind him pushes a tissue into his hand, and he takes it gratefully, clearing away the tears in his eyes just enough to make out the fragments of color outlining Ning’s frame, the glint of rose gold in his peripheral vision.

“Ryan, in all time we know each other, we have spent more time apart than together, but I always regret going home and leaving our relationship how I did nine years ago. Two years ago today, I fly back to New York, just wanting to see you again, and beyond my wildest dreams, I find out you still love me back as much as I love you,” Ning says, voice trembling, but he’s grinning and a bit teary-eyed.

Ryan reaches a hand out toward him, wanting that point of contact, and Ning takes it with his free hand, but doesn’t get up, just smiles more widely.

“Every day, I love you more and miss you more. Every day, I understand more that I am wrong about nine years ago _—_ I did not go home when I left; I _left_ home when I left you _—_ because you are my home. Now, because of my job, I still always have to leave you, but I always come back. However, every day, the more I want to come home, come back to you for good. I ask you once if you can see me as your boyfriend. Today, I want to ask if you can see me as your husband.” A tear escapes Ning’s eye and makes its way down his cheek. “I love you, Ryan. Will you marry me?”

“Of course I will, Ning,” Ryan sobs out, not even trying to hold himself together. “How could you even _ask_ me that?”

Laughter ripples through their audience, and Ning relaxes, loosening his shoulders. As he gets up, Ryan throws himself at Ning’s frame, trying to occupy as much of the same space as possible and almost knocking the ring box out of his hand. Ning barely tumbles back, his arms immediately wrapping around him.

Ryan weakly hits Ning in the chest, shoving his tear-stained face into Ning’s neck. Because of the way he landed on Ning, Ning’s knee is digging into his side, and his other leg is twisted weirdly and will probably grow numb soon, but he doesn’t care.

“You’re always making me cry. I hate you.” He feels Ning smile against his forehead. “I hate you so much.”

“Is it legal to say you hate your new fiancé right after fiancé propose?” Ning wonders aloud, to a series of whoops from the crowd.

“Who’s the one referring to himself in third person now?” Ryan demands to know, though his words come out in unflattering hiccups. He can hear the sounds of cameras flashing around him, which, great. They’re all going to be memeing his face for _weeks;_ Reese just taught Mom how to make stickers on WeChat. “God, I cannot _believe_ you did this.”

“Really?” Ning asks incredulously. “After all those times you yell at me for being too smooth?”

“Okay, fair. I meant to say I can’t believe you beat me to it,” Ryan says more steadily, his breathing settling down. “I was going to—”

“What kind fiancé are you?” Dad calls out. Ryan looks over to see him and Mom grinning widely, faces streaked with happy tears. “Why not kissing him?”

With that, everyone starts chanting “KISS! KISS!” at them. Ning shifts Ryan so he’s completely in his lap now and cups Ryan’s face in his hands the way he always does, like he’s holding the whole world in just the palms of his hands. Their eyes meet: an observation, a declaration, a statement of fact.

A promise.

Then, Ryan leans forward, mock-threatens, “I’ll get you back later,” and kisses him fiercely, the cheering and applause so loud that Ryan actually hears his ears pop, but he ignores it all to focus on the familiar curve of Ning’s lips on his. Fiancé. _Fiancé._

It completely makes up for the fact that Reese _does_ actually order pineapple on pizza for the office because while she’s entirely miserable about it, when she commits, she _commits._

And now, so do Ning and Ryan.

—

_twelve days later_

Ryan wants to recreate the day of their first kiss nine years ago on the day before their second anniversary (“But what we do on actual anniversary?” “You’ll find out”), so they make an entire day of it: visiting Mama and Yehyeh’s grave with Mom and Dad to make up for Ning being away for work during Tomb-Sweeping Festival last month, attending an afternoon performance of Cantonese opera, and now, dancing in a corner of the same club of that fateful kiss.

They’ve engaged in enough dance-offs in the privacy of their apartment by now that Ning has lost the self-conscious awkwardness and dances with grace. Tonight, though, Ning’s goofier than suave, but the heat in Ryan’s chest simmers anyway. Ryan’s breathless, not from dancing, but from laughing at how Ning purposefully moves his own body to make Ryan laugh: the exaggerated pelvic thrusts, his hands mimicking a beating heart leaping out of his chest, the intermittent sweep of his arms as he stops dancing and ‘gives’ Ryan the floor to showcase his talents.

Through it all, Ryan finds it absolutely ridiculous how hard it is to keep his eyes off Ning’s hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, the grin Ning’s been wearing for _hours,_ the absolute comfort and confidence he moves his whole body with. The first time they were at Phoenix, they were still having fun, but Ryan thought only he felt the undercurrent of sexual tension between them, up until they actually kissed. This time around, it’s fun, and it’s sexy, but it’s also _comfortable._ No doubt about what comes after because he already knows Ning will be with him at the end of the night.

The next song is slower, the beat subdued but still seductive. Ryan holds Ning by the hips as Ning slings his arms around Ryan’s neck, the grind slow and suggestive and _familiar,_ making Ryan’s breath catch. How many times had he gone to a club looking for someone, anyone, to fill the hole in his chest after Ning left him, back when he had no reason to think Ning would ever come back? How many times did he end up going home alone, not wanting to subject yet another guy to being called the wrong name? How many times did he stop himself from reaching out for Ning after he came back, too afraid to see if Ning was reaching out for him, too?

To echo Ning from all those years ago as they held each other in Ryan’s bed, too many.

He’s still taken aback sometimes, like he is now, by how all those things aren’t a part of his life anymore, by how much he no longer hurts, by how he didn’t even _realize_ he had been hurting until he started healing, until that healing became such an inherent part of him that the comfort rooted in him is now a second skin, soothing all the insecurities and flaws and aches within his cracking façade.

“What are you thinking about?” Ning says in his ear.

“Just… how different things are now, compared to the very first time we were here.” Ryan laughs a little. “I… _hoped,_ a little bit, that we’d maybe share a kiss, but I figured it wasn’t going to happen because we were only just becoming friends and also because I thought you were straight.”

Ning’s face slowly breaks out into a smile, not unlike a flower unfurling its petals to welcome the sun’s embrace. “And then…”

“We kissed. Well, you got jealous first. Tried to ditch me.”

“I was sad,” Ning corrects him. “You only liked white men; I had no chance.”

“I still chose you, though.”

“Yes,” Ning replies with a smile before sighing, “and then I did not choose you for a very long time.”

“But then you did, and everything’s so much _better_ now. _That’s_ what I was thinking about.” Ryan leans his forehead against Ning’s and wraps his arms more tightly around Ning’s waist. They sway in place like it’s high school prom. He slides his hands under Ning’s shirt, enjoying the feel of Ning’s back under his fingertips. “Want to go home, continue the reliving? The day isn’t over yet,” he murmurs.

Ning’s eyes darken. “Lead the way, bǎobèi.”

—

_one day later_

After a truly memorable night involving Ryan’s own stubble and Ning’s thighs of steel, Ryan wakes up with a yawn and stretches under the arm Ning has flung across his chest.

Ning tightens his arm around Ryan slightly when Ryan tries to get up. “Stay a little longer,” he mumbles, eyes still closed.

“Got something I have to do,” Ryan whispers, kissing Ning’s shoulder before carefully extracting himself. “Get up soon, okay?”

Ning groans and rolls into the space Ryan just vacated, and for a moment, Ryan looks at him with smug sympathy; he really did a number on him last night.

After a quick shower, Ryan stands in front of the body-length mirror in the living room clad in an old black T-shirt with wings on the back, furiously running his fingers through his wet hair as he critically assesses its lack of volume. He should’ve blow-dried, but—

Ning shows up in a snappy floral button-down soon after, still in the middle of doing up the buttons. He watches as Ryan pulls the T-shirt down, in an attempt to hide the sliver of skin just above his hips. “Meeting someone?”

Ryan nods and smiles as he fiddles with his hair, but says nothing else.

Ning stands behind him and studies his own reflection as he resumes doing up the buttons. He cocks his head. “Who are you going to meet?”

Ryan turns and pulls Ning closer to him, knocking Ning’s hands out of the way to button up the rest of the shirt for him. He lets his hands drift from Ning’s chest to his shoulders, then all the way down to Ning’s waist. Ning covers Ryan’s hands with his, memorizing the feel of Ryan’s ring under his fingers, and Ryan’s gaze moves to their clasped hands, his smile coy. “A man.”

“On our anniversary? Should I be jealous?” Ning asks. Ryan’s smile turns soft, but he doesn’t look up, so Ning lifts his chin and kisses him deeply, until Ryan’s gasping into his mouth, hands urgently roaming his back. He looks dazed when Ning breaks the kiss and feigns studying him contemplatively. “Mm, I don’t think so.”

Ryan’s smile grows even as he rolls his eyes, overtaking his whole face, the blush on his cheeks warm and lovely. “You don’t have to be so smug about it.”

“Why not when I can be?” Ning replies, kissing him again. “Well, tell me. Who are you going to meet?”

Instead of answering Ning’s question, Ryan asks one of his own. “Want to know why I wanted to relive that particular day yesterday?”

“Why?”

“I wanted to relive what it felt like to fall in love with you for the first time.” Ryan steps back from Ning’s embrace, hands in his pockets as he looks at his feet. Ning tilts Ryan’s chin up with a finger, leaning in for yet another kiss, but Ryan dodges with a soft smile. “Turns out I’ve _been_ reliving it because I fall in love with you more and more every single day. We were apart for so long, much longer than we’ve been together, but we’ve come so far from that. I’m just so… at home—with us, around you, in my own body—now. Because I love you and you love me, because I chose you and will choose you for the rest of my life and know you’ll do the same for me.”

“Of course I will. I love you, too,” Ning says, a bit confused. “You not answer my question though?”

“Mind answering mine first?” Ryan gets down on one knee and takes the ring box out of his pocket. “I’m so in love with you, Ning,” Ryan says, voice cracking. “Will you marry me?”

Ning freezes for half a second, before Ryan finds himself being lifted up and kissed within an inch of his life. “Ryan.”

His face is wet, he realizes, because Ning’s face is wet. Ryan smiles widely. “Well? I did tell you I was going to get you back. Don’t get me wrong; I knew you were going to make your own move, but I thought we were both going for the same day. You gonna keep your man waiting?”

Ning wipes his eyes and kisses him again. “My _Fashion Man,_ ” he murmurs. “I love you, so why wouldn’t I marry you? I proposed first, after all.”

“Oh my god.” Ryan rolls his eyes. “I’m going to pretend you just said yes and continued crying.”

Ning wipes his eyes a second time, grinning. “Half-true.”

They share another soft kiss, mouths moving gently against each other for a while. Ryan untucks Ning’s shirt from his pants and eagerly feels him up, delighting in how Ning’s muscles still quiver so beautifully under his touch.

“I figured we’d be spending all of today celebrating,” Ryan murmurs, “which is why I wanted to relive everything yesterday.”

“Then what is point of all these clothes?” Ning asks, as they work together to unbutton Ning’s shirt again, Ryan from the top and Ning from the bottom. “We just take them off again.”

“Figured you’d want to take your shirt off me yourself,” Ryan says, and Ning does just that, pulling the shirt over Ryan’s head slowly before pressing their bare chests together. “By the way, the man I was going to meet? My not-so-new fiancé. You proposed first, after all.”

—

_a few months later_

“I can’t believe it’s taken us this long to do this. We’re always cooking Chinese food—how have we never gone grocery shopping together?” Ryan asks, as they walk inside the Chinese supermarket.

Ning adjusts his sunglasses and cap a fifth time. “Schedules? I am always sleeping by the time you go.”

“And you’re just too famous around here,” Ryan agrees, squinting at a durian. “I can’t tell if this is good or not.”

“Because you don’t know how to pick or because sunglasses? I told you, you don’t have to wear if you don’t want.”

“And let you be the only asshole wearing sunglasses indoors? Not on your life, honey. Besides, not to sound cocky or anything, but I feel like more and more Chinese people know my face now, so if they recognize me, they’ll definitely know who I’m with.” He pauses to feel it. “Yeah, I got nothing.”

Ning shrugs. “To be honest, I don’t know how to pick, either. Usually, seller picks for me.” He looks at the ones laid out in front of them. “And usually many more kinds. More confusing.”

“Sorry.”

Ning hefts a durian in his hands before putting it back down. “What are you sorry for _now?_ ” he asks, with a touch of amused exasperation.

Ryan grabs the durian Ning points at and hands it to him. “Well, you know. Here… it’s no China.”

“No,” Ning agrees. “So what?”

“There’s not as much variety here, with durian, lychee, fish, things like that. Not like China. I just—is it worth—won’t you miss—”

“Ryan,” Ning says incredulously, “are you really asking me if I would rather have more Chinese food than be with the love of my life?”

“I just mean, like, you’re giving up a lot in moving here, marrying me… you’ll be farther away from your parents, friends…” Ryan sighs. “I just wish you didn’t have to sacrifice so much.”

“Not like we don’t go back together every year. And I have been living here on and off for past two years anyway, so New York is not completely unfamiliar to me,” Ning points out. “I am giving up some things, yes, but I am also getting so much more. Here, is possible for us to get married and be a family. There, it isn’t. Please don’t think I am unhappy about being here. If I am, I tell you, okay?”

Ryan smiles. “Okay.”

After a moment, Ning asks, “Should we ask someone for help?”

“Who would do the asking, though?”

“You? I don’t want to be recognized.”

“Ning, we’re at Eighth Ave. I may know how to ask for help nowadays, but that’s in _Cantonese._ ”

“But I thought more Cantonese in Brooklyn?”

“Kind of. Just not at Eighth Ave.”

“Okay, how about we just pick one now, then I ask my mother next time.”

“I’ll ask my mom, too. We can compare notes,” Ryan suggests, as he picks one up and puts it in their cart. “I really hope you’re right about frozen durian being as good as ice cream.”

“ _Better._ Frozen, you don’t have to smell, and texture is creamy, breaks apart nicely. You’ll like it, I promise.” Ning leans his forearms against the handle and starts steering the cart toward the vegetables. He angles his head to nod meaningfully at their surroundings. “You once told me you admire how I take being Chinese everywhere I go. _This_ is how, so don’t worry about me, okay?”

“I was jealous,” Ryan corrects him.

“Still. I could not miss my life in China more than I miss you.”

They’ve been together for over two years, but Ryan still blushes, despite Ning saying things like this _all the time._ He supposes it’s a small mercy that the sunglasses block him from seeing Ning’s smug look, which would only make him blush harder. “Alright, alright, keep it in your pants. What’s next on our list? Bitter melon?”

“Please no. I love your mother, but I hate it.” Ning shudders. “One good thing about being here, my mother cannot buy and sneak into my fridge.” Then his smile turns teasing. “Is why I miss China equally, but never more than you.”

Ryan laughs, the heat in his cheeks settling into a simmer. “How about we just… put less than her recipe says? It won’t taste right without it. And not tell my mom.”

“Deal.” As they stroll through the rest of the store, Ryan points out the candy and soft drinks and snacks he grew up on before he got self-conscious about being an Asian kid eating only Asian food, and Ning compares the things available here and what’s available in China, which is when Ryan learns American fast food chains in China have all the things he could never find here, like durian cake and red bean pie. Very surprised to learn it, too, because McDonald’s had been the epitome of all things American when he was growing up.

Not for the first time, Ryan wonders how he would have turned out if he’d grown up in an environment where his family’s flavors and tastes were validated outside of home and spaces like this.

As they lug their groceries to the subway station, Ning admits quietly, “I can’t wait to be married to you.”

Ryan thinks about the durian cake and the red bean pie, chest filling with joy at the realization that he’ll get to eat these foods and more with Ning in their married life together, though it dims a little when he thinks about how he could’ve had them in his life earlier if he hadn’t pushed them away. But timing’s not the important thing here, is it? Because he still got here, on his own terms, and now he’s _still_ here, together with Ning. He smiles at him. “Me, too.”

—

_one week later_

After a lot of energy and effort, Ryan finally wears his parents down and is granted permission to give them their wedding outfits.

“If I’d known I could get around not being allowed to buy you clothes by _making_ them, I’d have done it sooner,” Ryan says to the door of the fitting room Dad is in.

“I still say no if you design. Only say yes this time because cannot look bad for your wedding,” Dad retorts, voice muffled.

“I have your measurements now, though,” Ryan points out smugly. “Finally. Who knew all I had to do to get you new clothes was get married?”

Dad sighs. He can picture Dad smiling while rolling his eyes. “Thank you, Ryan.” He steps out, showing off the gray suit and soft peach shirt, and Ryan’s suddenly hit hard by how much he takes after Dad, which he’s never considered before; people are quick to tell him he has Mom’s cheekbones while being vague about how he takes after Dad, but he sees it now. He sees it in the litheness of his limbs, the shape of his chin, the way his smile always starts off small and unsure, before growing and blossoming all over his face.

Dad clad in a well-fitting shirt for the first time in a long time, Ryan can glimpse hints of the young man he once was—the unassuming man who had braved unforgiving waters to escape mainland China for Hong Kong, the quiet, witty teenager Mom fell in love with, the boy whose dreams and ambitions had been irrevocably changed by the Cultural Revolution.

Dad bites his lip. “Okay?”

Still marveling over how much he looks like his father, how _proud_ he is to look like him, Ryan gives Dad a slow clap as he does a turn for him. “Yeah, Dad,” Ryan says softly, clearing his throat in an attempt to regain his composure, while Dad politely pretends not to notice. “Have you seen yourself? You have good shoulders; I’ve been trying to get you to let me dress you for _years._ ”

Dad turns red, fidgeting uncomfortably as he looks at himself in the mirror at Ryan’s bidding. He touches his gray hair self-consciously. Ryan doesn’t fail to notice the way Dad puffs out his chest a little, straightening his posture as he examines himself. Even though Dad’s tone is gruff, his smile is shy. “If you say so. You know best.”

“Come on, you don’t think so?”

“Not… used to looking like this, I think,” Dad says slowly, as he ducks back in to change. “What you and Ning wear?”

“Haven’t thought about it yet,” Ryan admits. “Too busy finding a venue.” He’s toured half a dozen locations with plenty of natural light, but nothing’s felt right yet.

“A lot to do. Good you start early.”

“We have a little over a year,” Ryan agrees, going over their to-do list in his head. The cake-tasting and dancing lessons will have to wait until Ning comes back, as will finding a Chinese caterer for the Chinese wedding banquet doubling as their rehearsal dinner, but that’s Ning’s responsibility, thankfully. “Even though Ning’s away, he’s been helping, too—he’s telling me his idea for our wedding favors when he gets back, first thing.”

“He’s good man.” Dad comes out of the changing room as Dad again, back in his regular clothes and shoes, shoulders hunched forward, a slight smile on his lips. He hangs his new dress shoes in a bag on the doorknob for now. “I’m glad you marry him.”

“Yeah. You must be happy, finally getting a good Chinese son,” Ryan jokes without bite. “Probably not in the way you expected, though.” He takes Dad’s wedding attire from him and puts it on a hanger. “I’m going to go check in on Mom and Reese now, so you can go pick what to eat, okay?”

Dad takes the clothes from him, laying them flat on the chair, but doesn’t move. “Ryan, you think I not happy to have you as son?”

Ryan doesn’t answer, gathers up his sketchpad and pencil case instead.

“Ryan.” When Ryan continues pretending to be busy, Dad sighs and steps in front of him. “傻仔,” Dad chides fondly, shaking his head. Then he hugs him tight, giving Ryan scant time to free his hands. _[Affectionate, gentle insult meaning “silly boy” in Cantonese]_

“ _Oof._ Why are you calling me names?” Ryan asks, as he hugs Dad back.

“Because is what you are!” More gently, he asks again, “You really think I unhappy with you as my son?”

Ryan swallows. “Uh. No?”

Dad steps back, folding his arms over his chest. He raises an eyebrow.

“Not all the time,” he amends. “I know I didn’t turn out like you were expecting, and Ning—”

“Ning, too, for own parents, I bet,” Dad reminds him gently.

“Well, it’s just—Ning’s a lot more—I’m not—” Ryan takes a deep breath, looking down at his hands. They’re so much smoother than Dad’s, uncalloused and well-maintained. They look more like those of his parents’ customers than those of his own parents. “Ning’s a lot more Chinese than I am. He’s fluent, knows how to cook Chinese food, remembers and follows Chinese traditions…” Letting out a sigh, he sinks into a nearby chair and hides his red face in his hands. “Sometimes I look at him and wonder how I would’ve turned out if I hadn’t grown up here, you know? I’d be able to read and write Chinese, know how to do everything for Tomb-Sweeping Festival without anyone babying me, be better at school and end up in a more traditional career…” He takes a shuddery breath, eyes suddenly damp. “Maybe I wouldn’t even be—”

“No.”

Ryan looks up to see Dad smiling, which is surprising, considering how fiercely he had interrupted. “No?”

Dad pulls up a chair next to him and puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You always like this, no matter what. Because you my son.”

“So… always bad at Chinese stuff. Thanks for having faith in me, Dad,” Ryan says sarcastically.

“Always creative, non-traditional, thoughtful,” Dad corrects. “I cannot see you happy in job where you cannot artist.” Dad’s tone is fond. “You never big on tradition or custom, so I think if you grow up there, would also forget holiday.” More seriously, he continues, “I think also if you there… maybe harder for you to know you gay. Maybe more pain, more confusion, more hurt. More hiding, more fear to tell us.” He sighs. “I want you to always feel you can show me important parts of you.”

“I just… I know I didn’t turn out at all like you were expecting. I can barely communicate with you even now because I’m so bad at Chinese and was so ungrateful as a kid for everything you and Mom did for me—”

“Parents, we think too much about how kid should be,” Dad says quietly. “Yes, I expected you to be certain way when I think of future child. But is not something parent should try to control. Is not something parent should demand from child. Because is very unimportant when compare to how child _actually._ ” He cradles Ryan’s hand with both of his. “You turn out wonderful man, Ryan. You never complain about take care of us, try so hard now to learn Chinese—”

“Of course I’m going to take care of you.” Ryan looks at their hands and notes how they both have long, slender fingers and softly rounded nails. “You’re my parents.”

“Us, same thing, take care of you because you our son.” Dad shakes his head. “We make so many mistake, not realize long time how lucky we have you as son. Also, you don’t think we talk okay? We talk right now, understand each other fine, right?”

“Yeah. We do.” Ryan looks up to find Dad’s eyes are also damp. He knocks his shoulder into Dad’s gently, eliciting a smile from him. He really can’t stand seeing older Chinese people crying. “And you did, and that’s what matters.”

“You too hard on self because we too hard on you,” Dad sighs. “Cannot compare to Ning because he grow up different, okay? He grow up Chinese in Chinese family; you American in Chinese family, and you still care about Chinese now, so I very happy have you as son. Of course, I happy to have Ning as son, too, happy he join our family because he make you so happy, take care of you. Not because I want Chinese son, okay? I already have one, a Chinese American son. Don’t cry, don’t cry, you perfect, 傻仔, no need change, for me, for anyone.”

Ryan hugs Dad the best he can with both of them still sitting. “Thanks, Dad. I love you,” he whispers into Dad’s ever-present tan fishing vest.

“I love you, too, 傻仔,” Dad says softly, stroking his hair, and Ryan’s suddenly ten again, completely worn out from crying his heart out, after escaping Jimmy Zheng and all the other neighborhood kids, who turned on him one day after school in fifth grade, bringing out the vilest English slurs they knew after running out of their limited Cantonese as they punched and kicked him behind the community center they went to every day.

After running home, barely able to see, chest heaving so much that he almost didn’t make it to the bathroom to throw up the Ring Pop he’d crunched up with his teeth after Jimmy caught him eating it, which he’d only been able to buy after two weeks of sniping nickels and dimes from his parents’ tip jar. That had been the last straw for Jimmy, the last piece of the puzzle adding up to the conclusion that Ryan was gay after catching Ryan looking at him earlier that week—just because the sun through the window overlooking the indoor pool had caught Jimmy at a good angle, and he’d looked so _nice_ in the sunshine—when Ryan hadn’t even known what that _meant,_ yet.

After all the yelling from his parents for fighting with the other kids and getting blood all over his public school uniform—didn’t he know those were already so _expensive,_ especially for a growing boy like him?—he just sat on the toilet seat for a long time because he hadn’t wanted to waste water staring into space in the shower, until he did finally have to shower and tried his best to cry it all out before he had to go to bed and face everyone with the cuts and scratches and bruises marring his face the next day.

But he couldn’t, was still crying into his pillow until he was dizzy and numb and almost asleep, when a shadow darkened his doorway, and suddenly, there was a hand in his hair, Dad whispering “傻仔,” and a bitter lump in Ryan’s chest, as he wondered why Mom and Dad couldn’t show him this kindness when he was awake.

Maybe they hadn’t known how, yet.

Ryan takes another breath and exhales slowly, suddenly lighter, grounding himself in the warmth of Dad’s hands still holding his. Not because the baggage he had forgotten was there is now completely gone, but because it takes up less space. Because it’s now easier to understand, and pick up, and put away without _hiding_ it.

Ryan’s phone buzzes, and he fishes it out of his pocket with his free hand to check his messages, pretending not to notice Dad stroking the back of his hand with his thumb, his touch soothing like water on stone. “Reese and Mom are hungry, so I’ll check on Mom’s dress after we eat. What are you in the mood for?”

“How about you choose,” Dad suggests, smiling at him. “You do know best, after all.”

—

After a lunch of takeout from a new Malaysian place, Ryan leaves Dad with his laptop to catch up on his shows and goes over to Mom’s fitting room.

He knocks on the door. “Mom? Where’s Reese?” He hears fabric rustling and smiles at her dismayed aiya.

“Sky miss her, so they FaceTime,” she calls out. “Aiya, what you two make me wear?”

“Please reserve all judgment until after you come out,” Ryan shouts back, sitting down and browsing photos of the most recent wedding venue he’d toured as he waits.

Ten minutes pass before Mom steps out in a mauve form-fitting dress that ends at her knees, arms around her torso. “I too old for this.”

Ryan gently pulls her arms away and steps back to look at her, throat thick with emotion as she keeps her gaze on the floor. He’s seen black-and-white photos of her when she was young, so he knows she had the looks of a movie star with her high cheekbones, distinguished forehead, and brilliant smile, but he’s never seen the resemblance between then and now more strongly than at this moment—because. Because without the years-old hand-me-downs he’s always known her to wear, without the years of toil and hardship he always took for granted, a fragile but stunning vivacity unfurls itself, giving him a peek into the girl with hopes and dreams before the Cultural Revolution rewrote them that Mom never talks about.

“Mom. You look… beautiful.”

She shakes her head, about to dash back into the fitting room, but Ryan puts a hand on her arm. “Ryan, I really cannot wear.”

“No, _look._ ” Ryan walks her to the mirror. “The sleeves cover your shoulders, like you wanted, and it doesn’t hide your body shape, like _we_ wanted. Reese did a great job.”

“But I look so,” she trails off, in a scandalized whisper as she turns in front of the mirror, “ _sexy._ Other people talk. Too old, too old!”

Ryan shakes his head, watching as Mom smooths her hands over her hips and tugs like the dress will suddenly hide her body. “You’re really not. You think Reese would really embarrass you like that? Does wearing it make you feel good? Because you _look_ good.” He stops her and adjusts the fabric back, hands on her shoulders to make her stand still and just _look_ at herself. “Dad’s going to love it. I bet he hasn’t seen you wear something like this in a long time. _I’ve_ never seen you wear anything like this.”

He doesn’t fail to notice the way Mom’s eyes have been on the dress the whole time, her fingers running over the material over and over again. “Yes, I do feel… good,” she admits. “And no… never. You _or_ Dad.”

His heart twists at that, but all he does is shrug. “Then it’s yours. Who cares what other people think?”

“You very good at that.” Mom holds onto him for balance as she toes off her shoes for the gold flats Ryan had begged her to let him buy. “Not caring others think.”

“I care about what _you_ think,” Ryan replies, steadying her as she slips her foot into the first shoe.

“Then you know what I think of you. Right?”

Ryan sighs. “Did Dad already tell you? When?”

“When you and Reese pick up the food.” Her grip on his arm tightens for a second as she puts on the other shoe. “So beautiful.”

“Told you you should’ve let us dress you earlier; Reese’s parents go to her every time they have a fancy thing to go to,” Ryan gently chides, as he takes her by the arms and slowly twirls her around. As she does, the sleeves fan out around her. “This is perfect for dancing in.”

“They have place to go,” Mom points out, which isn’t exactly untrue for her nowadays. “You so busy, how can bother you?”

“You never bother me. Except when you’re trying to get me to drink bitter Chinese medicine.” Ryan wrinkles his nose.

“You drink black coffee, what different?” she retorts, smiling. They continue swaying to no music, and Mom whacks him on the arm when he dips her with no warning. “Ryan, my baby.”

Ryan spins her again. “Yeah?”

“First time I see you, I love right away, know you will be great. I right about that, but not about _how._ When you so different from other kids, I not take well. Yes, you not how I expect—how can anyone get everything they expect from their child? Silly and unreasonable expectation—but that. That not require for me to love you.” Mom stops dancing and hugs him close. “Before, I was wrong.”

“Mom, it doesn’t—”

“No, Ryan. Let me say.” He falls silent. “I was wrong. That year we no talk, we never talk about, but I know, very hard for you. Lose your home, lose family who suppose always love you. Make favorite food, celebrate your success, comfort you in bad time.” She cradles his face, and he stoops down a bit, starting to tremble because he knows where she’s going with this. Gently, she says, “Mooncake your favorite when you little. Then no eat long time, and now only small bite. Is it because—”

Ryan nods rapidly and looks down, biting his lip as tears suddenly threaten to fall. “I tried, Mom. I tried to—celebrate and all the—by myself—but I didn’t—couldn’t—I forgot everything,” he stammers out in between hiccups, before he starts crying, shaking all over.

He’s twenty years old again, and the sickening sweetness of the mooncake mixed with his bile is coming back up his throat as he sits alone in his college dorm. In the dark, with only the full moon for company, a full tin of mooncakes next to him, the ripped wrapper of a mooncake that’s been cut it into fourths haphazardly thrown back into the tin, even though he has no one to share it with.

His face is streaked with dried tears from crying himself to sleep after impulsively buying it instead of groceries for the week, and it’ll take another depression nap before he gets the energy to leave it all in the communal fridge after that, so at least Mom and Dad can’t chide him for being wasteful—not that they’re ever going to talk to him again, not after he fucked it all up. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

“Sh, sh, no sorry from you,” Mom whispers, shaking herself. “Love for real is love with no condition, but I not really understand for long time.” Ryan hugs her tighter to him, rubbing her back. “Dad say you worry you not good enough for us. I am sorry we make requirement you must do for us to love you. I am sorry we leave you one year. I think—I _hope_ —I better at love you now. I love you, Ryan. You not the son I expect, yes, but you the son I have, and you much better than I ever dreamed. You make me so proud, so happy. I love Ning, so happy get another son, but happy _you_ happy. Nothing to do with own expectations. I throw those away long time ago.”

“Oh, _Mom._ ” Ryan’s voice cracks. “We need to sit down for this.”

They let each other go before Ryan grabs some tissues and pulls up two chairs. They sit facing each other, laughing a little as they dab at their eyes with the tissues. As Mom takes another tissue, their eyes meet, and Ryan’s breath catches; in this moment, she looks every bit her teenage self—soft and beautiful, vulnerable but brave.

“I don’t get married for a _year,_ and I’m crying for the second time today.” He looks away, bouncing his knee. “I guess I didn’t realize just how worried and jealous I’ve been about this? I guess it still bothers me how quickly you and Dad accepted Ning as my boyfriend back then? Because it was very different from how you were always criticizing me? So I guess I kind of thought… I’d make you happier if I was more like him.”

“Years ago, I think so, too. At least easier understand each other,” Mom laughs, and Ryan joins in, thinking about all those hours he’d spend fighting with her because she remembered the meaning of something wrong before Google Translate, futilely using English to explain terms Mom didn’t know before Pleco, failing to decipher Mom’s Chinese texts before WeChat. English has never been Mom’s forte, but she’s never stopped trying to understand him, has always pushed him to help her understand. “But we accept Ning so fast because—”

“Because he’s Chinese, I know. You never were subtle about wanting me to end up with a Chinese person. _That_ was the one thing that didn’t change after I came out.”

“Well, yes, Chinese, means easier for us, we understand him more. But we see over years, the white men, some not treat you right. When I first see Ning, I already know he not tell parents, very afraid disappoint. Afraid, but still with you anyway, still care enough about you to let you know how he feel about you. Of course, I wrong, did not know he will hurt you.”

“Some things were beyond his control.” Ryan ducks his head. “Actually… at the time, we weren’t together yet. He was just pretending to be my boyfriend because I wanted you and Dad to approve of me for once. I didn’t even know he liked men yet. I thought he was just doing me a favor.”

Mom hums. “First time here and when he come back—no different how he look at you. Always the same. You, too.”

Ryan blushes. “Oh.”

She puts her hand on his and draws the same curves over and over—not a smiley face, he realizes after a moment, but a heart. “I am sorry, my baby. For criticize and let you believe we like Ning more because he better Chinese.”

“That wasn’t your fault, though. That was all me.”

She shakes her head. “You not think that for no reason.” She taps her fingers on his hand. “So when for real, first time?” At Ryan’s startled look, she retorts, “I already know a lot happen after that, with how you look at each other, how you act after he leave.”

“Uh… later that night, after we met with you,” Ryan admits, blushing even more. “We kissed that night.”

“He first man in long time we see and know will be careful with you. He scared, too,” Mom says quietly, “so of course I accept him. If own mom not accept, I want him to know at very least, one mom in world know and that mom accept and love him.”

“Wait, does—did you know before me? That he was—”

She shakes her head. “Not my story to tell. Ask him,” she advises. “Maybe tell him about today, too, how you feel. See how he and Dad and me help you change how you feel, okay?”

He gets up from his seat and hugs her so enthusiastically that he lifts her off the ground. Unfazed, she just hugs him back, kissing his cheek. “Thanks, Mom. I love you.”

“I love you, too, my baby.” She strokes his face tenderly. “You I love most in the world, always my baby.”

He then sets her down and lets her go get changed before sitting back down, thinking. Could he maybe—

When the door reopens, he picks his head up. “Mom?”

“Yes?” she asks absentmindedly, while looking for a hanger.

“So I was just thinking… about the wedding invitations and what I’m wearing and the wedding in general. I’ll have to talk to Ning about the guest list and everything else, but I was wondering if… if maybe I should do some invitations in Chinese, too? Like, Ning’s already planning to do a lot of his in Chinese, but I was wondering maybe if I should as well? Maybe we could invite some of the family in Hong Kong? I know you haven’t seen them in a long time, and I’d pay for their plane tickets—”

“Oh, I like that. I don’t see because before so busy, but also I not know who okay with you, and I choose you always. Could be nice to see some again, but let them pay own ticket.” She gestures dismissively. “Once they know who you marry, will be nosy, come for own reason, not because they care about you. If you pay, they all come. If they have to pay, only good come.”

Ryan laughs along with her as he looks for a bag to hold her shoes. “So if I end up doing some of my invitations in Chinese… I’ll need…” he sighs. “I’m sorry, but I forgot my Chinese name.”

“We not call you that for long time, make sense you forget.”

“I just feel really bad because Mama named me and nobody calls me that anymore.”

“傅文勇, your name. But we never call you this, remember? We always call you—”

“Oh yeah! I remember now. Everyone just called me Sai Yong (細勇) because my favorite character on that detective show was Dai Yong (大勇).”

“Yes, Little Brave. Because you so young but already not care how others see you. But now you Big Brave, too. All grown up.”

Ryan hums. “I had a crush on him.”

“Me, too!” Mom giggles, mock-swooning. “So handsome, such beautiful face, that man.”

Ryan finally locates a bag and holds it open for Mom to drop the shoebox in. “Again, I’d have to talk to Ning about it, but I was wondering if we should also wear the traditional Chinese outfits during it? Like, we’ve been figuring out which traditions to keep and which ones we don’t care about, but while I _want_ to add some Chinese stuff, I just don’t? Know? If I can?”

“Why not? I think good idea, American and Chinese together, just like you.”

“I just don’t feel like I’m… worthy of it, I guess. I still know so little Chinese—”

“Ryan, no matter what how Chinese you are, still part of you. I love to see you and Ning in it, so happy to see you thinking about this. Make me, Dad, _Ning,_ so happy you think about this.”

“Would you and Dad want to wear them, too? And Ning’s parents, do you think?”

She claps him on the shoulder and runs her hands over the dress one last time before relinquishing it to Ryan, who slides a garment cover over it. “Talk to Ning first.”

“I will,” he promises. He hears footsteps coming from behind them, and they both turn around.

“Hey, anyone miss me?” Reese calls out, poking her head into the doorway before stepping inside. “How’s the dress, Auntie?”

“Is beautiful, thank you,” Mom replies, before softly chiding, a smile on her face, “You make so sexy, only lucky Ryan marry, or I never dare wear.”

Reese laughs as she gives Mom a kiss on the cheek. “That’s _exactly_ what I thought you’d say.”

“Lucky you have just me, then,” Ryan jokes. “Otherwise you’d have to wear things like this more than once.”

Mom gets on her tiptoes and pats Ryan’s cheek. “You right. Very lucky I have you,” she says softly, before picking up her purse. “I go bathroom, back soon, okay?”

“Okay.” He nods at her shoes and garment bag. “Dad’s stuff is in my office, so let me just put it all together.” Then he turns to Reese. “Were you talking to Sky this whole time? I only just remembered you were here working on Mom’s dress, which looks phenomenal, by the way.”

“I know, right?” Reese says smugly. “And nah, Sky finally fell asleep twenty minutes ago.”

Ryan cocks his head. “Then why didn’t you come back earlier?”

Reese shrugs. “You and your mom were talking, and I didn’t want to interrupt. It seemed really important.”

Ryan exhales, shoulders hunching over just as he’s realizing everything he was carrying—the jealousy, the fear, the sadness he felt seeing Mom and Dad’s excitement at gaining an actual good Chinese son—don’t have the same weight anymore. “Yeah. Yeah, it was.”

—

_two weeks later_

Still naked, Ryan flops over in their hotel bed to admire the way Ning’s back muscles ripple as he runs his fingers through his wet hair.

“Don’t you have a meeting in two hours?” Ning asks, as he sits in front of a mirror and starts moisturizing. This particular hotel room’s mirror faces the bed, so Ryan doesn’t even have to move to admire the view.

Ryan groans. “Yeah.”

“So go shower. I won’t go until after you finish,” Ning promises. “You still in Seoul for one more week, right? I am in Tokyo until Thursday, we try to see each other one more time?”

“Yeah, that’d be nice. I think I can get away for a night.” Ryan sighs. “You go to Sydney after that, right? And I have to go to Singapore.”

Ning puts away his lotion and stands up, tossing a towel at him. Then he comes closer, sits down, and places a gentle kiss on Ryan’s shoulder. “And _then,_ we both go back to New York. Come on. Don’t want you going to meeting smelling like me.”

“I _like_ smelling like you.” But he gets up, taking his time as he stretches because he knows Ning’s eyes are all over him. “I can’t _wait_ until we can get back to New York. Lately, it feels like I haven’t been able to have you all to myself for more than a few hours at a time.”

“I know, I know. Me, too. But soon will be different, more time together at home. And just in time for mooncake. Hurry up, okay? I will wait for you, but not a lot of time.”

“Okay,” Ryan concedes reluctantly, resigned to leaving the bed (and the view).

At least Ning stops him to give him another peck before pushing him toward the shower again, laughing and ducking when Ryan tries to deepen the kiss.

He leaves the shower to find Ning on the bed, still not dressed. “What happened to being in a hurry?”

Ning props himself up on an elbow, watching as Ryan unwraps the towel around his hips and starts putting on pants. “I thought maybe you want to check what I wear. Since I am ‘clashion disaster’ and all.”

“I told _GAYSIAN AMERICA_ that as a joke! I didn’t know they were going to make that the front cover!”

“Still.” Ning stretches on the bed, the sheets artistically hiding his lower half.

Ryan swallows as his eyes track the now familiar but still beautiful lines of his body. “I kind of want to draw you now.”

“Like one of your French girls?” Ning asks dryly, but he poses anyway.

“I just mean, I _can_ draw, you know. Besides, you’re just so—you look amazing in this light, and—fuck it, okay, yes, exactly like that,” Ryan says, an idea hatching in his mind. “Alright, hear me out—I have an idea for our engagement photos…”

—

_three weeks later_

They decide to take the photos a few days after the day they first met nine years ago. Some of them, at least. The day is beautiful: a cool breeze that teases more than it ruffles Ryan’s hair, trees with full heads of leaves shimmering between orange and gold, russet leaves swirling poetically as they make their descent to the ground.

Annie sets up their camera. “I can see why you’re doing this a whole year early. You have a _lot_ of things on your list.”

Ryan shrugs. “What can I say? We have a lot of rom-coms to make gay and Asian, and I trust only your expertise to make our vision happen.”

Their skin is too dark for Ryan to see it, but he knows they’re blushing. “Sweet talker. I already said yes.”

“But you _do_ do such good work.” Ning comes up from behind, wrapping an arm around Ryan’s waist. “Ryan always looks at the photos you take of me from first shoot together. Still has in wallet.”

“Hey,” Ryan protests. “You were only supposed to be embarrassing Annie, not me.”

Annie smirks. “Alright, what are we doing first? _When Harry Met Sally,_ right?”

“Yep. Then those two scenes from _Titanic,_ and that truly iconic lift from _Dirty Dancing_ that Ning refuses to incorporate into our first dance because he doesn’t love me.”

“I am not professional dancer, Ryan,” Ning says patiently. “I would kill you, and that is not how I want to spend first day being your husband.” A strong gust of wind blows past, and Ning shivers. “And last. Very sad if wedding day is also last day as your husband.”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Annie calls from behind the camera. Ryan and Ning stand across each other a few feet away from a streetlamp, and Ning folds his hands in front of him.

“Wait!” Ryan flicks his hair back in place and unwinds his scarf, wrapping it around Ning’s neck instead. He then sticks his hands in his pockets. “There. Still handsome, but now warmer.”

Annie shakes their head and grins. “I’d love to have what you’re having.” _Click._

—

_a few months later_

Ryan watches Vic and Ning dance as he sips from his water bottle, humming along.

“Have you thought about who’s going to lead and follow?” Vic asks, as Ning dips him. “You both know both parts pretty well now.” He walks Ning backward before slowly spinning Ning away from him. “There you go, work those biceps, hon. You’re such a hunk; I _totally_ get why so many people are still after you even after you announced your engagement.”

Ning ducks his head, blushing as he returns to Vic’s embrace for his own dip. “Sometimes, I feel like even _more_ after announcement.”

“Well, yeah, your fan base grew after all the men realized they actually had a chance,” Ryan says, just as the song ends.

“Not really,” Ning replies, coming over to peck him on the cheek as he retrieves his own water bottle. “I’m already marrying my biggest fan.”

Vic chuckles at that, while Ryan rolls his eyes good-naturedly.

“And to answer your question, no, we haven’t thought about it yet,” Ryan replies to Vic. “When should we decide by?”

“Whenever, really. I just ask because in your case, you have a few months to go, so if you decide soon, you can get it really locked into your muscle memory. You only have two more lessons, after all.”

“I have no preference,” Ning says.

“Honestly, me neither. Who would you choose, Vic?”

Vic raises his hands up in defense. “I don’t want to be responsible for your divorce.”

“Bold of you to assume you have that much power,” Ryan jokes, as he steps into Vic’s arms. “Am I leading or following?”

“How about you follow me for now?” Vic turns to look over his shoulder at Ning as they start waltzing across the floor. “Ning, I know you still feel a little self-conscious dancing with Ryan in front of other people, so I just want you to watch Ryan dance. How would you describe the way he looks right now?”

Feeling Ning’s eyes on him as Vic spins him around, Ryan pulls off the next steps with ease and confidence.

“Beautiful?”

Ryan and Vic both laugh. “What a flirt,” Vic says, pretending to swoon. “How _else_ would you describe him?”

“Happy? Relaxed?” Ning asks. “I don’t see other way to answer your question.”

Vic laughs again, nodding. “Yeah, happy, relaxed, comfortable. That’s how you look as well, when I watch you guys dance.” He swings Ryan out again, and they do a shimmy before returning to each other. “Don’t worry about how you look to other people. Just focus on each other because otherwise it’ll show on your face and carry over to the rest of your movements, too.” Another glide, another twirl. Ryan can do this with his eyes closed. “Though may I suggest you change at least one of your private lessons to join our group, so you get used to having people’s eyes on you? We have a lovely bunch, two couples that have been learning together.”

“What do you say, Ning?” Ryan asks as Vic dips him. “You want to try it?” To Vic, “We wouldn’t be intruding?”

“No, and I’ll make sure everyone’s phones are used only for recording their own routines. Don’t want to violate your privacy.”

“Sounds good.” Ning nods. “Thank you.”

With one last dip ending in a heartfelt embrace, the song ends, and Ryan moves to Ning’s side, taking the water bottle from him. Vic claps his hands. “That was great! How’d you two feel about today? Feeling more sure about who should lead and follow?”

“You can lead,” Ryan says to Ning. “I feel like I’m going to be too dazzled by you to concentrate on leading.”

Ning snorts. “You were wrong,” he says to Vic. “ _Ryan_ is the flirt.”

As Ning leaves for the bathroom, Ryan stands by Vic, watching Vic rehydrate. “Can I ask you a question? About your own wedding?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“When I was working with your wife for that _GAYSIAN AMERICAN_ issue last year, Claire mentioned in her interview that you surprised each other by singing in Portuguese and Mandarin. Was that hard?”

“Oh man, that was years ago,” Vic whistles, smiling at the memory. “Not really. I mean, I was still getting used to my voice changing, since I’d just started HRT, but the actual Mandarin? Not as hard as I was expecting.” He grins. “Why, you want to sing Ning something?”

“Yeah, maybe? Maybe just the first verse, so the rest of that song can be our, I guess, pre-first dance dance? That’s why I want Ning to lead for this song.” Ryan takes another sip of water. “I just thought I’d ask you how hard singing in Mandarin is because you also didn’t grow up speaking it or anything.”

“I think that’s a cute idea. And dancing-wise, you can just improvise with what you’ve been learning here. What I did was print out the lyrics with the pronunciation and listen to to the song a couple of times before trying to sing it myself. But honestly? Like with dancing, muscle memory is going to do most of the work for you. All you need to do is practice.”

“That’s a good idea, thanks.”

“I practiced for a month, and Claire’s mom told me I sounded great. I even impressed her grandparents,” Vic says, just as Ning returns. “You’re going to kill it.”

“Kill what?” Ning asks, looking at them both with suspicion. “You don’t still want to do the _Dirty Dancing_ thing, right?”

“Interesting that _Dirty Dancing_ immediately makes you think of murdering your future husband,” Ryan says, raising an eyebrow. “Spousicide? But no, rest assured, I am not plotting to recreate the _Dirty Dancing_ lift, even though you’re in your prime and can lift way more than I weigh and would be holding me by the heart, like in the song.”

“If I literally hold you by heart, you would be dead,” Ning retorts, before turning to Vic. “You are the only one who can prevent Ryan’s death at my hands, you understand? Because if you tell Ryan is possible, then he will convince me because I cannot say no to him,” he says solemnly.

“I understand and will do my best to uphold my responsibility with honor and integrity,” Vic replies just as solemnly, before they all start cracking up.

—

_one week later_

“Ryan, Ning, I’d like to present to you your wedding outfits. One of them, at least—I know you’re going with your parents to figure out the cheongpo.” Reese pulls open a curtain with a flourish. “Because one, I know you’ve been too busy to think about it, and two, you didn’t think I’d let you do that yourself, did you, Ryan? When you surprised me and Nora with ours?”

“Okay, but that galaxy tux was bomb,” Ryan says as he runs his hands over the lightly patterned floral suit jacket. He can already imagine them morning of, dashing about as they get ready, him gently pulling Ning in by the sleeves to still Ning’s shaking hands, Ning laughing sheepishly as Ryan does up his buttons for him. Ning helping him into his jacket, the two of them pressing their foreheads together for a moment before heading out. When he looks over to Ning, whose eyes are on his own tan suit jacket and slacks, he knows Ning can, too.

“It sure was,” Reese agrees. “What do you think?”

“Is good match.” Ning moves on to admiring his soft pink shirt, which is a hair lighter than Ryan’s. “Perfect. Thank you so much, Reese.”

They both hug her tightly. “I love it. You got me down pat, Reese,” Ryan says.

“I wouldn’t be your best friend if I didn’t,” she points out, voice slightly muffled. “Can you let go of me now? You’re messing up my hair.”

“See?” Ryan asks Ning as they break apart. “It’s not just me.”

Ning shakes his head. “Whatever you say.” He fingers the pink bow-tie, its contours cut to mimic the shape of a butterfly, as Ryan admires his own matching one. “Don’t you have something to ask her, Ryan?”

“Oh yeah. So, like, I know you’ve been looking forward to being my best gay, but I was wondering if you could officiate instead? Originally, I was going to ask Nora, but then I remembered your wedding and got the idea for the ceremony to not just be in English? You can still do a speech at the reception later, of course.”

“I would be _honored!_ ” Reese exclaims, throwing her arms around both of them. “And I’ve been waiting to roast you publicly ever since you told everyone at our wedding that I didn’t know Nora and I had been dating for two months!”

“Oh, god.”

“I can _not_ wait to tell everyone about how you didn’t realize Ning still had feelings for you, even after he cooked for you and went to bai your grandparents with you.” Then, to Ning, she asks, “Permission to interview you about this later? It’s for my speech.”

“Granted.” At Ryan’s indignant sputter, Ning raises his hands in defense. “What? I can’t deny any of it!”

“Between you as officiant, Nora as best gay, and Janet as maid of honor… I think I’m going to regret this,” Ryan says, grinning.

“No way you won’t,” Reese agrees, grinning back.

—

_one month later_

The cake tasting goes off without a hitch, and they still have an hour before the cheongpo fittings with their parents, so they kill time with lunch at a nearby crêperie.

As they sit down with their food, Ning asks, “What is Wingyan like?”

“Really nice and funny. We always consult with her when our clients are looking for traditional Chinese attire. Reese went to her for her cheongsam for her own wedding, actually.”

“You think she can handle my mom? She’s still cranky due to the ten-hour layover in Chicago.”

“Of course. She deals with anxious about-to-be married people and their parents all the time. Why? You think she can’t?”

Ning looks at him wryly. “You think dimsum with our parents three days ago went okay?”

“To be honest, I’m a little surprised that they didn’t resort to passing each other notes in Chinese. I almost wish they did just keep talking like in that movie _Connected._ They clearly understood each other; they all just felt weird about continuing the conversation like that.”

“Instead, they tried to continue in English,” Ning says, shaking his head.

Ryan giggles. “Which is kind of ironic, since I’m the only one who doesn’t know Chinese.”

Ning watches as Ryan resumes eating his brie-turkey-artichoke crêpe. “Is that good? Never had brie before.”

“Want to try some?” Ryan cuts a sizable piece and spears it on a fork.

Ning covers the hand Ryan’s using to hold the fork with his own and brings it closer, slow to release Ryan’s hand after eating it. He closes and reopens his eyes deliberately slowly, dragging out the time he needs to chew before swallowing and drawing Ryan’s attention to the lovely line of his throat. “Passable,” he says finally.

Ryan swallows, glaring at Ning’s smirk. “Tease.”

“Don’t I always follow through?” Ning asks, grinning. “How can I be a tease?”

“In the meantime you are.”

They eat in silence for a while, Ning scraping off the cheese in his steak and mushrooms crêpe and Ryan swooping in to eat the cheese with exaggerated delight, to Ning’s pretend annoyance.

Ryan hooks their ankles together under the table. “Ning, I want to ask you about something.”

“Yes?”

“You don’t have to tell me, of course, but I was talking to my mom a few months ago, and you remember the day you first met my parents? When you were pretending to be my boyfriend?”

“What did she tell you?” Ning asks, curious.

“Not much. Just that I should ask you. She did imply she knew you were gay before me, though.”

“She did. I didn’t tell her; she knew as soon as she saw me.”

“I asked her if she knew we were just pretending to be dating, and she said she didn’t.”

“Well,” Ning muses, a small, shy smile on his lips, “maybe because _I_ wasn’t pretending.” He hums thoughtfully. “So long ago… I almost forgot my talk with her. She was the one to see I was hiding, to comfort me because she could see I was so afraid to disappoint my parents.” More quietly, “I’m sorry I never told you.”

Ryan takes his hand in his. “Oh, I wasn’t asking you to apologize. I was just surprised because I didn’t know you liked men up until you kissed me. I _hoped_ when you agreed to go to the party with me, but…”

Ning runs his thumb across Ryan’s knuckles, eyes on the table. “I didn’t—wasn’t—hadn’t wanted you to know. My feelings for you, I wanted to hide because I didn’t think there was much chance of anything good coming out of it. I like you, but you think I’m annoying. Also, I wasn’t your type.” He turns Ryan’s hand over to weave their fingers together. “And then…”

“And then… Mom talked to you?” Ryan asks, different pieces of the puzzle clicking together. “Ning, babe. Are you saying my mom gave you the courage to kiss me?”

Ning’s silence is _everything._ He’s literally the reddest that Ryan has ever seen him.

“Are you saying if not for my mom, we wouldn’t be here right now?” Ryan can’t stop grinning.

Ning looks away. “You’re saying that. Not me.”

“Baby, look at me.” After a beat, Ning looks up stiffly, face still pretty red. “I’m not laughing at you. I’m just really, really happy you ended up taking the risk. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Ning takes a gulp of water. “You remember before we go into the club? When I look at you, and you say the only thing scary is—”

“Bad styling. Yeah.”

Ning leans back, tapping the table. “That’s when.”

“When what?” Ryan thinks back to that night—the way Ning had just looked at him for a full beat before smiling, his smile tinged with a note of finality, as if he had just come to a decision—and knows.

“When I knew I wanted. To try.”

“You remember when we were on the ferry coming back, and I asked you if you wanted to go to a party? That’s when _I_ knew _I_ wanted.”

They spend the thirty seconds or so literally just staring into each other’s eyes and smiling, until a waiter comes by to refill their water.

“Why were you talking about this, anyway?” Ning asks curiously, as he cuts into his crêpe.

Ryan sighs. “It just came up when… It was really silly. I made a big deal out of nothing.”

“That means it _wasn’t_ silly. You were upset.” Ning studies him carefully. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it really was! It was the day I was showing Mom and Dad their wedding outfits, and well…” Ryan puts an elbow on the table, leaning his chin on his hand. He picks at his food. “I don’t think I realized how insecure I was. Not about marrying you, because I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life, but about you being part of the family. About Mom and Dad finally getting a real Chinese son.”

“Ryan…” Ning’s voice is gentle. “I could never replace you for your parents.”

“I know, I know! You didn’t do anything—I’ve just always had this idea of what the perfect Chinese son is like, and I’ve always known I was never going to be that.” Ryan picks out a piece of artichoke. “So I’m sorry for putting you into that box, when I know you worry about living up to that ideal, too. I’m also sorry about not telling you sooner. I just…” Ryan sighs, placing his hands on his lap. He looks down. “I didn’t want you to feel like you were the problem because the whole problem is that I keep comparing us and wondering how I would’ve turned out if I grew up in Hong Kong, and I don’t know why I keep doing that because if I was there, I wouldn’t be able to live so openly and I wouldn’t have met you.”

“We would have still met. I was promoting _Springtime in Nanking_ in Hong Kong, too. You would have still been stylist, and we would have found other things to hate each other for.”

“You probably would’ve still hated me for being so obviously gay. Like, I probably would’ve presented myself differently, but it would’ve still been obvious.”

“And you would have Hong Kong snobbery, not American,” Ning teases.

“But we would’ve still found each other,” Ryan says with a smile.

“And fallen in love,” Ning adds softly, before he lets out his own sigh. “Ryan, you don’t think I also think about how I would be different if I grew up here? I don’t know anything about gay culture, and like you said before, I dress badly, like straight man. I know you meant as joke, but it’s true; I still dress like straight man who relies on girlfriend to pick out clothes. I wonder if I would be out or still hide, or if I am out to friends and outside world, but hide from parents. Or if I never came here and saw what life as a gay man could be like and met you, if I would hide for rest of my life.”

“Oh, Ning.” His heart aches for him. “I had no idea.”

“Because I also don’t want you to think problem is you. I think is natural, when you meet someone different from you, you start wondering how your life would be different, too. And because our backgrounds have similarities, we wonder—what twists along the way make us different? And I wonder, if for you… maybe you now more in touch with Chinese part of you, so you start comparing yourself to Chinese people from China like me, seeing requirements you have to complete to be able to be Chinese.”

“I feel like you’re right,” Ryan says after a moment. “And I feel like that might be what’s going on for you, too? As you’re getting more comfortable with being gay and out, you’re also trying to see how you measure up compared to other people in the community. Like… figuring out how to stay belonging there while belonging there, if that makes sense. Being a public figure probably doesn’t help.”

“Yes, always want to make sure I am helping and not harming, especially since so few out gay Chinese.” Ning sighs, playing with his food. “But is hard—don’t want to be stereotype because I don’t want everyone to think all gay people like this, but I also want to feel like I belong.”

“But you _are_ helping, okay? And you do belong. The fact that you just… _exist_ and are yourself is how you belong. You do so much advocacy work for the community, but even if you didn’t, you’d still belong. Even when nobody else knew, you already belonged,” Ryan says fiercely, grabbing Ning’s hand with both of his and giving the back of it a heartfelt kiss.

“Bǎobèi, always making me cry,” Ning accuses without heat, blinking his tears away. “It’s same for you, you know? No matter how much Chinese you know, always a place for you. It’s why I am so happy when you ask me if I want to wear chángshān, because yes, you are thinking of me, and our families, but also because you are thinking of yourself, too.”

“God, I love you so much.” Ryan wipes a tear away, never more aware of how beautiful Ning looks, his eyes slightly damp, the soft, honest smile on his lips. “I wish it was just the two of us right now. I can’t hold you like this.”

“Yeah,” Ning agrees wistfully. He checks his phone. “Almost time to go. You sure you still want to do fitting today?”

“Our parents are already there, so we probably should, right? I don’t want your parents to think I’m flaky. I feel bad for saying this, but I’m glad they’re only here for two weeks.”

“You worry too much. You think they not excited to gain another son?” Ning presses more of his leg against Ryan’s, the warmth blossoming through the rest of his body just as quickly and gently as the first time. “How about this: we finish eating, tell parents we will be late, and take a walk? You can catch your animals, and I can make sure you don’t trip. Just the two of us.”

“They’re called _Pokémon,_ you dick!” Ryan exclaims. More softly, he adds, “And I’d like that. Really? They’re… really?”

“How can’t they be, Ryan?” Ning asks incredulously. “It’s _you._ ”

“I just never thought of it that way before,” Ryan says slowly, head spinning a little.

Ning holds his gaze and picks up his fork. “Better get to it, then, Ryan. 快点，吃吧，吃吧!” _[“Hurry up, eat, eat!”]_

—

_a few months later_

“Ryan, can you at least _pretend_ you’re enjoying your bachelor party with your three best friends in the world?” Reese asks exasperatedly, poking him in the knee. They’re at Phoenix again, but Ning’s not here, so he’s more than content to stay in the booth collecting cocktail glasses and refuse any and all of Reese, Nora, and Janet’s attempts to drag him to the dance floor.

Ryan continues texting Ning, smiling to himself when Ning replies with a laughing emoji at his typos, which are getting more and more frequent, though he’d prefer to hear his laugh in person. “Then let me know when you three are done with Moms Night.”

“ _Oh-ho-ho,_ you’re one to talk, when you haven’t looked up _once_ from your phone,” Janet says on his other side. “ _You’re_ the one who didn’t want to dance.”

“I didn’t even _want_ to do my own separate bachelor party,” Ryan complains, finally setting his phone down. He bounces his leg, itching to dance, but it’s no fun without Ning, especially when he’s tipsy and loose-limbed and yearning for his touch. “But _no,_ Ning’s old entourage wanted to take him out to celebrate.”

“You don’t even like them, though,” Reese points out, as she takes a rainbow-colored drink from the tray Nora’s just arrived with. “Thanks, babe.”

“Not when they’re all together, no,” Ryan agrees. “They’re too much for me then, but I can handle them, like, two at a time.”

“Including Miao, right? Is that awkward?” Nora squishes back into the booth, pressing her thigh against Reese’s.

“She’s married to Chun from the entourage now, who’s also there, so I should hope not,” Ryan says dryly.

“No, I mean, do you feel awkward having her here? In general?” Nora swipes a sip from Reese’s drink, laughing when Reese swats her away.

Ryan taps his fingers on the table, thinking for a moment. “Not as much as I thought,” he admits, as he picks a pink drink from the tray and sips it. “Holy shit. Does this have _lychee_ in it?”

“Yep,” Nora replies proudly. “You like?”

“I _love._ ” Ryan gulps more of it down, the fizziness settling nicely in his belly.

“I’ll get you another if you explain.”

“Are you bribing me?”

Janet elbows him. “Hell, I’ll get you a dozen more if you spill. How do you _really_ feel about Miao?”

“Did you meet her back when Ning was here the first time?” Reese asks Janet. “What’s she like? Can’t ask Ryan because he’s either biased or lying.”

“ _Lying._ Why would I lie?” Ryan rolls his eyes. “I really _am_ fine with her here. We met up with her and Chun the last time we were in Beijing, and she didn’t seem to hate me then, so. Plus, they have a cute kid. Just turned three.”

“I didn’t get to meet her, but from what I remember of her from that press conference, she was a little awkward,” Janet muses. “Really pretty, though.”

“She’s still pretty now. And awkward. I think it’s because…” Ryan sighs. “For a long time, she was the only person he could talk to about me, and only because she figured it out. That’s why she broke up with him. So I guess it’s, like, she knows all this stuff about Ning and me, but only through Ning, so she doesn’t really know how to act around me? And I just want to be, like, thanks for being part of Ning’s support system during those years, but at the same time, he _did_ cheat on her with me, and I feel like thanking her might be, like, rubbing it in her face? _Hey, thanks for doing your part in getting us back together, Miao!_ Not to mention the whole _pussy_ meaning _stylish_ or _fashionable_ thing.”

“Ah, yes, the _meme_ you started in China,” Reese snickers.

“Wait, hold on,” Nora says, hand on Ryan’s arm. “I’m missing something here. You started a _meme_ in China?”

“It wasn’t on _purpose,_ ” Ryan protests. “I had no idea Ning was going to spread it when he went home. But yeah, Miao’s the… namesake for the meme, I guess.”

“You think she knows?” Reese asks, trying not to laugh but failing miserably.

“Probably,” Ryan groans, resting his head on Janet’s shoulder. “So, to sum up, I’m fine with her here. I just don’t know how to _show_ it.” He lets out his umpteenth sigh of the night, downing the rest of his drink before setting it down next to the other five he’s already had. “Can we talk about something else?”

“You were just hating on our Moms Night, though,” Reese points out.

“Because it was _just_ Moms Night,” Ryan explains. “If it was _Ryan and the Moms_ Night…”

“You were on your phone, dude,” Reese retorts. “It could’ve been like this the whole time, if you’d just stopped looking at your phone.”

Ryan stays silent, knowing she’s right.

“ _Ryan and the Moms,_ ” Janet muses after a moment. “Sounds like a _Mamma Mia_ spin-off.”

Nora and Ryan chuckle. Reese just looks at Janet blankly.

“It’s a musical,” Ryan supplies, rolling his eyes.

Reese glares at him. “So what, just because I’m gay, I should _know musicals?_ ”

“No, because it’s a _classic,_ ” Nora says.

“Nora, the love of my life, et tu?” Reese whines dramatically. “…though I heard what’s-his-name is finally getting a husband, so I guess I’ll watch that when it comes out.”

“ _Finally,_ ” Janet says. “Only took ten years to convince you to watch it.”

“If you told me about the happy gays, you wouldn’t have had to wait!” Reese’s phone pings. “Babe, Lakey says Sky wants the dinosaur storybook. Do you know where that went?”

“Did Sky hide it under the couch again?” Nora asks as Reese texts Lakey back. “Jan, I am endlessly amused by the fact that Lakey has always said she doesn’t like kids, and then after one emergency babysitting job, she’ll drop everything for Sky.”

Janet laughs. “Me, too. Though, to be fair, I think it’s _only_ Sky. She still doesn’t like kids.”

Reese turns to Ryan knowingly. “Speaking of kids, on a scale of 1 to 10, with 1 being _hints being dropped at every possible moment_ and 10 being _messages written in the sky by a plane,_ how subtle have the parents been about wanting grandchildren?”

Ryan makes a face. “A 12. More Ning’s parents than mine, but as the wedding gets closer… Let’s just say I know how to say IVF in Mandarin _and_ Cantonese, now.” He groans. “It’s not like we don’t want kids, you know? We’re on the same page—we want them but not right away because we want time for just us, first.”

“And is why you keep looking at your phone all the time,” Nora notes quietly.

“Yeah. Sometimes I feel like I miss him _less_ when he’s away because when he’s in New York but off doing something else, I’m just like, well, why am I not _with him doing that thing?_ ” Ryan buries his face in his arms. “Sorry. Six Drink Ryan is _not_ fun.”

“Aw, baby,” Nora says soothingly, as Janet rubs Ryan’s back and Reese holds Ryan’s hand. “It’s just for a little while longer, okay? Then you can be with Ning and stop being worse than Reese when she was missing me at our _own wedding reception._ ”

“ _Nobody_ could be worse than Reese at your reception,” Ryan says, muffled. “I’m so insulted that you would even _dare_ to go there.”

“ _Hey,_ ” Reese protests faintly because she knows she doesn’t have any ground to stand on.

“I mean, it _is_ true,” Janet says.

Ryan can sense Reese glaring at her. “You’re all being rude as hell right now just because I love my wife a normal gay amount.” Reese shoves Ryan. “But also, I meant, _hey,_ isn’t that Ning?”

Ryan lifts his head up so quickly that his vision swims. They’re going to roast him later for just how fast he perked up, but _whatever._ Ning’s _here?_ “You better not be—”

“She’s not, promise.” Janet gets out of the booth and starts pulling him up by the arms. “Look!”

Reese helpfully shoves him the rest of the way out.

“Hey!” Ryan yelps, steadying himself as he waits for his vision to clear. Once it does, he looks to where Nora’s pointing, but doesn’t see him. Heart sinking, he turns to get back into the booth. “Real nice, y—”

“Oh my _god._ ” Rolling her eyes all the while, Nora marches over to him, turns him back around, and grabs his head.

“My _hair,_ ” Ryan complains, when she yanks _too hard._ “You—”

He rubs at his eyes twice, but what he sees stays the same—it _is_ Ning, and Ning _is_ making his way over to him from the entrance on the other side of the club, flanked by his old entourage (and Miao).

“You’re _welcome,_ ” Nora says smugly, but Ryan soon forgets it, throwing himself into Ning’s arms and burying his face in Ning’s shirt.

Ning hugs him back, and for a minute, they’re just basking in the warmth of each other, before being rudely interrupted by someone loudly clearing their throat (Reese).

Ryan reluctantly picks up his head, but doesn’t let go. “What are you doing here?”

Ning smiles sheepishly and kisses his forehead. “I missed you too much.”

“Your friend Nora say you miss him, too, won’t go and dance,” a voice says behind them. Miao.

Ryan startles and clumsily turns around to face her, breaking his and Ning’s embrace, but she doesn’t react when Ning wraps his arms around Ryan’s waist again, pressing his back to his chest.

She gives him a smile, four parts teasing and one part shy. Her gaze shifts behind him briefly, to Ning, and her smile widens. “Ning not having fun, you not having fun, so we bring together.”

As Ning hooks his chin on Ryan’s shoulder with a sheepish chuckle, Ryan laughs his own guilty laugh, but the embarrassment is nothing compared to the joy of reuniting with Ning, even though they were only apart for a few hours. “Thank you.”

Miao waves dismissively. “No problem. Now we all go and dance?”

He and Miao exchange another smile, and he feels like it won’t be that awkward having her here after all.

—

_the day before the wedding_

From a corner of their bedroom, Ryan and Ning watch their moms set up their bed with new red sheets and pillowcases, all embroidered with intertwined dragons and phoenixes in gold.

From the living room, where their dads have been organizing the tokens needed for the matrimonial bed setting ceremony, Dad yells out to announce the Nguyen-Ngs’ arrival.

Mom drops the pillow she was stuffing into a pillowcase and goes to the bedroom door, sticking her head out. “Hi, come in, come in!”

“Is this really necessary?” Ryan whispers to Ning as Reese and Nora enter, Sky running in after them. “It’s not like either of us is a bride. Or can bear children.”

Ning smiles wryly. “ _You_ argue with my mother about this, then.” He takes Ryan’s hand in his. “I like this, though,” he admits so quietly that Ryan has to lean in to hear him. “Doing these traditions in our own way, but still clear is tradition. I never thought I would have this _like_ this.”

“I never thought I’d _want_ anything to do with this,” Ryan replies, as they watch their dads enter their bedroom with oranges and red envelopes. “I spent so long _not_ wanting any of this, and later, thinking I didn’t deserve it.”

“You still did some traditions,” Ning reminds him. “Our families exchanged betrothal gifts.”

“Yeah, because your parents initiated. My parents asked me about it, but I was still dragging my feet.”

“It’s okay. Remember? You always have place as Chinese. Will be here when you’re ready, will not be taken away if you’re not,” Ning says. Ryan watches as Dad positions the full-length mirror to face the door. “Have I told you already? I am happy we add Chinese traditions because I know you want to make me happy, but I am also happy we add because it means you are more comfortable with this part of you. I know you feel like you don’t deserve, but how about if I—a _‘real’_ Chinese—say you deserve? I have the authority to say, yes?”

“Okay, okay, you’ve made your point,” Ryan whispers back with a laugh. “You ready for tomorrow?”

Ning exhales. “I worry about tonight first. Only after, I worry about tomorrow.”

“Fair,” Ryan concedes. Their relatives _did_ fly in from all over for the wedding tea ceremony and rehearsal dinner tonight. He glances at their cheongpo hanging in their open closet.

“Ryan.” Ning follows his gaze, nudging him gently.

“Yeah?” Ryan shifts gears to look at the pomegranate leaves and lotus seeds their moms are now putting on the bed instead. “That’s all the fertility stuff, right? Really?”

“They’ve never been subtle—you think they start now?” Ning snorts. “Anyway, I just want to say… you look beautiful in it.” Of course he noticed. “Not out of place. You don’t look silly in the chángshān, okay? Wingyan did great job, and you deserve to wear it. No one will think you don’t when they see you.”

Ryan lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Okay. I needed that. Thank you.”

“I love you,” Ning says, voice barely audible.

“Love you, too,” he replies just as quietly, and they share a kiss. Only then does he realize the whole room’s quiet.

“Boys, you ready?” Mom asks pointedly. “Finish whisper?”

They separate, nodding sheepishly.

Mom nods at Auntie, and it hits Ryan just then that she’s going to be Māmā from now on, after the tea ceremony tonight or the wedding tomorrow, depending on when they’re considered officially married. Auntie goes over to the bed to place Sky on it, looking like she’d rather continue holding them.

Sky immediately crawls over to a pillow and traces the embroidered dragon. Then they turn to their parents. “Mama?”

“Jump, baby,” Nora instructs. “Like you do at home, remember? It’s playtime!”

“Before you do, Sky, let me take a picture, okay?” Reese takes her phone out of her pocket.

Sky poses obediently and then starts bouncing on the bed. Ryan looks over to Reese and Nora, who are recording Sky’s animated wiggling dance and cooing encouragement at them. Then he looks at his and Ning’s parents, who are watching Sky with small, yearning smiles on their faces. Uncle has put his arm around Auntie, and his own parents have folded their hands in front of them.

Ryan then puts the _Mulan_ soundtrack on speaker, breaking everyone out of their reverie, and they all start dancing. Reese and Nora hold Sky’s hands, taking care not to touch the bed, while Ning starts dramatically dancing with his mom and Ryan and Mom mock-fight with Dad and Uncle to _I’ll Make A Man Out Of You._

After an inspired rendition of _Honor to Us All,_ Sky unceremoniously flops down on the bed and falls asleep.

“Did Sky do okay?” Reese asks nervously, biting her lip.

Auntie hugs her. “Of course. They are perfect.”

—

To Ryan’s relief, the wedding rehearsal goes smoothly, which means he can devote all his anxiety to the tea ceremony now. Even though he’s gone over it with Ning and their parents dozens of times, he’s still worried about messing up. He wonders now why he ever thought that it would be a good idea to hold the ceremony on the stage they watched that fateful Cantonese opera performance of _The Butterfly Lovers_ so long ago.

Mom peeks into the tent set up behind the stage, where he’s been attempting to fasten the buttons of his cheongpo but failing because his fingers are sticky with sweat. “Need help?”

Ryan laughs helplessly. “Yeah.”

“You nervous,” Mom murmurs, as she pushes his hands out of the way. “Why?”

“I don’t want to mess up.”

Mom hums softly as she finishes up. “Is so bad if mess up?”

“I mean, everyone’s watching.”

“So?”

“Well, you know! They’re all Chinese; they’ll know if I mess up!”

“But what that matter? Ning mom and dad still drink your tea. You will still married. Ning still love you.” She cocks her head as she appraises him. “And you don’t know if will mess up.”

“I’m pretty sure I will. And then they’ll all see and know that I’m not… I’m not really…”

“Not really Chinese?”

“Yeah.” Ryan uses his phone camera to examine his hair. “For years, I didn’t care what Chinese people thought of me, but now… I’m just, I don’t know. I don’t want anyone out there seeing me mess up and think I’m… that I’m an embarrassment to our family.” His lip trembles. “Or I’m not… good enough for Ning.”

“My baby,” Mom says gently. “Where this come from? Ning not care about that.”

“I don’t know,” Ryan sighs. “Both of our families are here to watch this, and they know Ning's an accomplished Chinese actor and I'm an American who doesn't know anything about Chinese culture. I guess it just hit me that this'll be the first time a lot of them will be getting a closer look at our relationship. And I guess I feel like I'm going out there to be judged.”

Mom swats him on the arm.

It startles more than hurts, but he yelps anyway. “What was that for?”

“Since when you care others think?” she asks. “You too mean to self, you know more Chinese now. How can talk about yourself like you not care about and work to be more Chinese?” She takes his hands in hers, forcing him to look directly at her. “If, _if_ you make mistake, not mean you not Chinese. Means you nervous and make mistake. That’s all. Not that deep, Ryan.”

“Who taught you that one?”

“Reese.” Mom furrows her eyebrows. “I use right?”

“Yeah,” Ryan laughs. He hugs her. “Thanks, Mom.”

She smooths his cheongpo down one more time. “Truly a 傻仔, you. We go now?” _[“Silly boy”]_

“Shoot, yeah,” Ryan says, after he checks the time. With one more ruffle of his hair, they step out of the tent and head toward the stage, which is a quick ten strides away.

As they walk, Ryan takes in the beautiful autumn afternoon sky, which soothes his nerves a little, but just as they reach the steps of the stage, he catches a glance of their audience and is scared shitless again. Almost tripping on nothing as he follows Mom up the steps, he gulps as he joins Ning a few feet away. Ning squeezes his hand as they watch their parents sit in the ornate chairs at center stage, and he forces himself to breathe.

It helps to know there are only about two dozen guests, but he’s not sure whether the guests facing their parents does; even though he can’t see them, he can still feel their eyes on his back.

At Ning’s nudge, they walk over to stand in front of Ning’s parents first, with Ning on Ryan’s left. Reese and Miao stand off to the side, fragrant jasmine tea and teacups at the ready. Everyone is dressed in red and gold.

Ryan and Ning kneel on red cushions in front of Ning’s parents, and Ryan’s heart starts thundering, drowning out the sounds of Reese and Miao walking over to join him and Ning and pour jasmine tea into teacups. After Ryan and Ning bow, Ryan wipes his clammy hands on his cheongpo hastily before taking the cup and saucer from Reese.

Ning gives Ryan a small smile before he presents his cup of tea to his own father and invites him to drink the tea. For a second, Ning and Uncle—soon to be Bàba—just look at each other, and both of their smiles turn watery. Bàba beams with pride as he looks at Ning, so overcome with joy that his hands shake a little as he accepts the tea.

Guilt flares up in Ryan’s chest; he’s been so wrapped up in his own head that he didn’t even think about what these traditions would mean for everyone else, and they so clearly _do_ mean something, with how everyone else is also finding love and family and connection and community and belonging in them.

He sees it now, in how Bàba smiles encouragingly when Ryan’s tongue stumbles over calling him that for the first time. He’s pretty sure he messes up the pronunciation when he asks Bàba to drink the tea, but Bàba never gives any indication that he does, and—hadn’t Mom already pointed that out?

Ning’s parents will still accept tea from him. He and Ning will still be married. Ning will still love him. Their families will still love them both.

He’ll still be as Chinese as he wants to be.

Ryan exhales as the realization settles within him, and from then on, it’s easier. Anxiety almost completely gone, Ryan is able to fully enjoy Auntie’s—Māmā’s—affectionate squeeze of Ning’s hand when she takes the teacup from him, Ning jumping a little at the unexpected touch, everyone on the stage’s quiet giggle at Ning startling. She wipes a tear from her eye before she accepts Ryan’s cup of tea, beaming with pride as Ryan asks her to drink it. Like with Ning, she squeezes Ryan’s hand, and then he has to blink his own tears away.

After Māmā sets the cup back on the saucer in Ryan’s waiting hands, Ryan returns it to Reese’s serving tray, and he and Ning stand up before moving their cushions in front of Mom and Dad.

This time, Ryan goes first. Both his and Dad’s hands shake when he presents the saucer to him. Then, with a deep breath, Ryan invites him to drink the tea in the language he grew up hearing, the language of home.

Even though he’s practiced the phrase dozens of times, Ryan still starts at hearing himself speak Cantonese; he only ever spoke Cantonese in his earliest memories, and hearing himself say all the words he used to know as an adult still sounds a little weird—but comfortable. Like rediscovering a trinket thought lost forever. Coming home after a long trip away. Finally going on the scavenger hunt his much younger self had made for him, full of clues and hints and secrets he always thought he’d forgotten years ago.

He closes his eyes for a moment, bringing to mind how he had looked at his tear-streaked, chubby ten-year-old reflection in the mirror and decided right then and there to never answer to Sai Yong ever again.

His eyes begin to tear up, but he doesn’t fight the tears, just lets them be. They’re healing, so unlike the tears from so long ago. As he hands the cup to Dad, Ryan thinks, _Thank you.This is for you._

Dad’s mouth drops in delighted surprise, and he nearly drops the cup. They share a quiet laugh at that, Dad’s eyes meeting his over the brim of the cup as he sips. Ryan then looks over to Ning, who’s been watching their exchange with a soft smile. Dad’s hands are surer when it’s Ning’s turn, but his eyes are no less damp when Ning also invites him to drink the tea in Cantonese.

When Ryan holds the teacup out for Mom, she’s already beaming at him, pride shining fiercely in her eyes. Unlike Dad, she isn’t at all surprised when he repeats the Cantonese to her, even though this is the one thing about the ceremony he and Ning kept to themselves. After she’s sipped from the cup and Ryan’s put it back on Reese’s tray, Mom takes his hands in hers, drawing hearts on the backs of his hands with her thumbs.

“I knew you can do it, my baby,” she murmurs, before shifting her attention to Ning, who laughs when Ning blushes.

“Chinese people very old-fashioned, long, long time changing, but _do_ change, hm?” Mom asks Ning, eyes twinkling with happy tears.

Ning looks over at Ryan before looking at Mom again. “We all change,” he agrees, before going into the Cantonese.

After she drinks the tea, she and Dad give him and Ning red envelopes. Then Ning’s parents come over to give them _their_ red envelopes, and all four of them make their way to the front of the stage for pictures as their guests break out in applause at the completion of the ceremony.

Still kneeling in front of Mom’s seat, Ryan traces the mandarin ducks gilded on the red envelopes.

“You okay?” Ning murmurs. Ryan jumps when he looks up, only now realizing his knees hurt; he hadn’t even noticed Ning standing up.

He blinks, taking in the sight of Ning’s cheongpo. “Yeah, actually,” he answers, as Ning pulls him up. He and Ning hang back, not wanting to get in Reese and Miao’s way as they move the cushions and tea set to the side.

Ning studies his face before his gaze strays to Ryan’s attire. “You look… right, like this. I don’t mean because you are Chinese person in Chinese clothes, but like… you are finally starting to believe you belong. Comfortable, like can be a home for you. Not the only home, but one of them.”

Ryan slings an arm around Ning’s shoulder as they fill the gap between their parents. Annie’s been photographing the whole event, but they’ve been walking around for different angles of the ceremony, so it takes them a few minutes to set up their tripod. Meanwhile, their guests have been enraptured with Sky, who escaped Nora’s hold for the sparkle of Ning’s aunt’s earrings. He turns to Ning and smiles. “I think so, too.”

Later, when he gets a chance to look at the photos Annie took of the tea ceremony, he’ll feel his body jolt at how well he fits _in_ with Ning and their parents, how he _belongs._ But for now, as he and Ning direct their guests to the tent housing the twelve-course Chinese banquet, all he’s thinking about is how he and Ning will finally be married by this time tomorrow. He can’t wait.

—

_the wedding day_

Like much of his life lately, the day is perfect: a gorgeous autumn day as warm and breezy as the day before; his hair looking and _staying_ spectacular for more than five minutes, after weeks of experimentation; Ning looking like a dream in his tux, the tan and pink a softer autumn than the one around them. He and Ning walk to the stage from opposite aisles at the same time, followed by Nora and James.

Even though they were just here yesterday for the tea ceremony, Ryan can hardly believe it’s the same place—yesterday, red ribbons were draped across all the stone seats, the stage made Ryan think of old TVB dramas about ancient Chinese emperors, and the Double Happiness symbol 囍 was everywhere, in gold. Now, the colors are more muted, pinks and lavenders and soft browns, like a spring that’s just discovered its foil in autumn, two sides of the same coin.

As their flower-ring guardian, Sky walks up the middle aisle in an adorable pink butterfly-patterned romper, complete with butterfly wings, sprinkling pink and lavender petals as they go, their rings tucked in a velvet pouch tied to one of the straps. They’re guided by an ever watchful Lakey in a lavender dress, who gently redirects Sky whenever they veer off-course. The audience laughs softly when they arrive at the stage and Sky tries to run to Reese before Lakey manages to pick them up and distract them with her locket.

“Dai gaa ho, we are gathered here today to witness the union between Ryan Manyong Fu and Qí Xiǎoníng. A love story that started a decade ago and is starting a new chapter today,” Reese begins, voice ringing through the air. She continues, but try as he might, Ryan can’t focus, already lost in the observation, declaration, statement of fact promised in Ning’s eyes. Even though they’d helped each other get ready this morning, Ryan’s still not over how well Ning’s tux brings out the joy in his eyes, how confidently Ning stands beside him, how _right_ he looks like this, comfortable and at home and in love. _[“Hello, everyone” in Cantonese]_

At Reese’s cue, Lakey unties the pouch from Sky’s romper and gives Ryan and Ning their rings. Ryan runs his finger along the engraving along the inside, heart filling with warmth as he commits to memory the way _a lifetime to cool down_ feels on his skin.

Ryan takes a deep breath, finding sanctuary in Ning’s gaze. “When you came back into my life, _demanding_ I be your stylist again and promising anything if only I’d sign on,” he says, grinning when the audience laughs, “it quickly became clear my father’s observation had stayed a truth all these years—that the love between us will take a lifetime to cool down. And it will _stay_ true: this I, Ryan Manyong Fu, pledge to you, Qí Xiǎoníng. I vow to laugh with you during the good times, to cry with you during the bad. To learn and grow with you. To love you for the rest of my life. Wǒ ài nǐ.”

“I once told you a truth of my own—that you have to give up something in order to achieve your dream.” Ning lets out a shaky breath. “I thought I had to give you up to tell the stories I wanted to tell. Never have I ever been so happy to be wrong. So this I, Qí Xiǎoníng, pledge to you, Ryan Manyong Fu: to never give up your love because you _are_ my dream. In more ways than one,” he adds, and the audience lets out a collective chuckle. “I vow to support and take care of you. To see and love you as you are. To be with you always. Ngo ngoi leih.”

The promise.

“Ryan Manyong Fu, do you take Qí Xiǎoníng to be your husband?” Reese asks, voice trembling.

“I do.” He slips the ring on Ning’s finger.

Reese turns to Ning. “Qí Xiǎoníng, do you take Ryan Manyong Fu to be your husband?”

“I do,” Ning declares, eyes on Ryan’s. Ryan will never forget the way Ning’s mouth curves around the words, like a final embrace before releasing them into the open. Ning’s hands are slightly sweaty as he slips the ring on Ryan’s finger, but Ryan doesn’t mind.

“ _Finally._ Ning, please kiss Ryan before he starts crying,” Reese commands, already weeping herself. “I now pronounce you husband and husband!”

Before Ryan can give her the middle finger, Ning steps forward and cups his face in his hands, the warmth of his hands warming his whole face into what he’s sure is a rosy pink. Overwhelmed by the _lifetime_ promised in Ning’s gaze, Ryan closes his eyes, committing his first look of Ning as his _husband_ to memory.

The second before they touch lips feels like forever. Ryan feels Ning’s body against his and hears the breeze in the trees. He shivers as the breeze grows stronger, as the sounds of the leaves rustling get louder, trembling but waiting in place as Ning lets out a soft sigh, his breath warming Ryan’s nose. A pleasant warmth spreads everywhere of him Ning touches as Ning lowers his hands to Ryan’s waist, and then, _finally,_ Ning brings their lips together with a gentle pull, just as the rustling reaches its loudest.

The crowd bursts into applause around them, but it’s nothing compared to the thought giddily playing over and over in his mind: _I love him. I_ love _him._ He’s so focused on pouring all his love and joy into the kiss that he doesn’t even notice Ning’s lifted him off the ground until he’s back on it.

“I’m never backing out again,” Ryan promises him hoarsely, and then they’re kissing once more.

—

Ryan’s starving, but doesn’t get a chance to eat much of the meticulously curated mix of Chinese and French dishes. Everyone keeps clinking their glasses, so he and Ning sneak bites when they can, hastily swallowing before they’re called upon to kiss again. They get about two minutes of respite when snow skin mooncake and ice cream are brought out for everyone, so he and Ning gorge themselves as subtly as possible. They still aren’t able to eat much, though, because they’re too busy giggling at the way the other looks, frantically and silently stuffing their faces as the focal point of the reception, not helped by the fact that they’re eating in the gazebo with their parents with no cover at all.

Ryan slips away five minutes before their first dance as a married couple, humming through one more time before grabbing the proffered microphone and walking back to the gazebo, stopping just before he reaches the steps.

“Ning, I am so happy I can finally call you my husband,” Ryan says into the microphone as their loved ones cheer, “so I thought I’d sing for you.” He shoots finger guns at the DJ. “Hit it!”

With that, the DJ switches from the mellow tune providing ambiance to a classic pop oldie.

“ _I was beat, incomplete_ / _I'd been had, I was sad and blue,_ ” Ryan sings, goofily dancing along. “ _But you made me feel_ / _Yeah, you made me feel,_ ” he continues, bolstered by the pleased but slightly confused grin on Ning’s face and the gentle laughter from the audience. _“Shiny and new_ — _hoo! Like a virgin, touched for the very first time_ —” He cuts himself off laughing when Ning connects the dots and starts laughing, too.

With another hand gesture, the DJ cuts the music.

“Sorry, baby,” Ryan pants, still laughing. He pauses to catch his breath. “That’s not what I wanted to sing. _This_ —”

“Wait!” Ning calls out, producing his own microphone. “Can I sing you something first?” He nods at the DJ, and a soft, _very_ familiar melody begins to play.

Confused, Ryan watches wide-mouthed as Ning gets up from his seat and sings from the very song he’d been planning to sing to _him:_

终于做了这个决定，  
别人怎么说我不理，  
只要你也一样的肯定。

我愿意天涯海角都随你去，  
我知道一切不容易。  
我的心一直温习说服自己，  
最怕你忽然说要放弃。

| 

_Finally I’ve made up my mind,  
__I don’t care what others say,_ _  
__As long as you are just as certain._

_I’m willing to follow you to the ends of the earth,_ _  
__I know it will not be easy._ _  
__My heart is persistent on convincing itself,_ _  
__I’m afraid you will suddenly say give up._  
  
---|---  
  
As Ning sings, Ryan’s mind whirs, trying to make sense of it all. He confirms to himself after a few more seconds of listening that it _is_ the song he’d planned to sing, just not the same verse.

How? Did Vic—

The next verse then begins, and Ning’s rich, gentle baritone timbre takes him out of his thoughts, as does the twinkling laugh in his eyes, like he knows exactly when Ryan refocused on him. Ryan wipes at his eyes, overwhelmed with love and joy as Ning slowly makes his way across the gazebo to him with an outstretched hand.

Right when Ryan hears his own cue, he takes Ning’s hand with a deep breath and helps him step down from the gazebo. Ning pecks him on the lips before taking the last step.

Together, they step out into the clearing holding hands and begin the verse Ryan had planned to sing, eyes on each other the whole time:

爱真的需要勇气，  
来面对流言蜚语。  
只要你一个眼神肯定，  
我的爱就有意义。

我们都需要勇气，  
去相信会在一起。  
人潮拥挤我能感觉你，  
放在我手心里你的真心。

| 

_Love demands courage,_  
_To withstand doubt and gossip,_ _  
__As long as your eyes express certainty,_  
_My love means something after all._

_We need to have courage,  
__To believe we’ll be together._ _  
__Even in a crowd I can sense you,_ _  
__I can still feel your heart in my palm._  
  
---|---  
  
After they finish the verse to much applause and cheering, Ryan bows to Ning. “Well, that’s all I learned. May I have this dance?”

They leave their microphones on a nearby table and waltz across the clearing in time with the music. Ning feels like home in his arms, the weight of Ning’s hand on his back a steady anchor that grounds all the emotion of the day within him. More than a few stray hairs have fallen out of place since the morning, but Ning still looks so lovely, and he just has to blink back a tear at the sight of him, even though he’s barely looked elsewhere all day.

“So this is why you were so insistent I lead our ‘first’ dance,” Ning muses, as Ryan dips him. “So you can show off.”

“How did you know? Also, shut up. Can you please stop having so many thoughts about me knowing Chinese? First, you’re proud of me; now, you’re shaming me. Can’t you just be happy?” Ryan sighs exaggeratedly, even as a tear manages to escape his eye.

“I’m always happy. You sound perfect.” Ning cups Ryan’s face and gently wipes the tear away with his thumb. “Also, I hear you in the shower. But that was after I have my own idea to sing to you, and then I convince DJ to tell me your plans and work out how to fit mine.”

Ryan rests his head on Ning’s chest as they forgo actually dancing to sway in place for a moment. “I should’ve known better than to ask Dex’s boyfriend to DJ; he’s too easily swayed by the promise of free food.”

Ning drops a kiss in his hair. “How you know I promise him free food?”

“Literally anyone would do anything for your dumplings,” Ryan points out, picking his head back up, resuming their dance now that they’ve recentered themselves once more.

Ning laughs just as the song ends and the one they’d actually learned to dance to in their lessons starts playing. “You know, you ruin my plans.”

“Yeah?” Ryan asks, just as Ning pulls him close, before sending him out for a twirl.

“Originally, I want to sing to you one time in front of everyone, then sing another time when we are alone tonight, tell you what each line means,” Ning explains, a smirk on his lips, “but you already know. So I guess I have to improvise, find something else to do tonight.” He looks at Ryan coyly as he traces a line from Ryan’s shoulder to his wrist with light fingers, eliciting a shiver from him. “Any ideas?”

Ryan’s mouth goes dry, but then the song ends on a lone heartfelt note with their hands clasped together between their chests. Barely a second into exchanging another heated look, they’re each dragged away for the mother-son dance, then the father-son dance.

Then, the dance floor is finally open to everyone, and Reese snags him immediately with a gentle tug at his arm.

“I could’ve sworn this was a Cantonese song,” Reese muses as they twirl around to a twangy, lilting melody. “How did you find it?”

“I know, right? Lots of Googling. I had the idea to search it as just a Chinese song, rather than a Cantonese one,” Ryan explains, shaking his head. “All this time I thought I never understood the song because my Cantonese sucks when it was actually in Mandarin.”

“Are all the songs like this, though?” Reese wrinkles her nose.

“Like what? Old? Chinese?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe?” Ryan shrugs sheepishly. “We kind of told our parents to go wild. There’s other music, I promise.”

“Just, it’s weird, isn’t it? Growing up with this kind of music, hating it because all the other kids would make fun of you for not liking or even _knowing_ the Beatles or the Who or the Whatever Else’s…”

“The ‘classics’ for you being, like, Spice Girls and Boyz II Men…”

“Speak for _yourself,_ Ryan. My classics were and always will be Destiny’s Child and Jesse McCartney.”

“I keep forgetting you’re younger than me.”

“Just by two years.” He spins her around, her galaxy-purple satin pants billowing out like a dress. She sighs. “Anyway, isn’t it weird? How we used to hate it, and here we are, jamming to it at your wedding.”

“ _So_ weird. Is that the true marker of adulthood?” Ryan wonders aloud.

“Yep. Easily beats ‘being honest with the love of your life about how you feel’ and ‘letting yourself take the risk of letting him back into your life’ and ‘putting a ring on it’ for true adulthood markers,” Reese says dryly. “Healthy communigaysian? Nothing compared to realizing you’re just as big a fan of sappy 90s Cantopop as your parents the older you get.”

“Hey,” Ryan protests without heat, “this song’s in Mandarin. Also, I feel like Sky’s been doing great in that regard, and _they’re_ not an adult. They tell you every time they feel sad you didn’t let them eat a cookie off the floor.”

“Fair,” she concedes. Then, after a moment, she says almost too quietly to be heard over the music, “I love you. I’m proud of how far you’ve come.”

“Love you, too.” Ryan hugs her, marveling at how different they are from the insecure but still ambitious idealists they were when they first met, back when they could so clearly see good things for each other but not themselves. Reese’s arms tighten around him, and he knows she’s thinking about it, too.

Then Ryan nudges her, raising his eyebrows to draw her attention back to the song. Her eyes widen, and together, right on cue, they scream, “HONG KONG, HONG KONG!”

“I can’t believe I missed the first two,” Reese grumbles. “That was the best part.”

“Hey, if it’s any consolation, I also added your other favorite,” Ryan says, just as the next song starts playing.

“ _Dude,_ I love you so much right now,” Reese exclaims. “And I thought I couldn’t love you any more when I asked the caterer about the cake and she said one of the layers was completely _hazelnut._ ”

“Well, we didn’t want four layers, so.”

Just then, a glittery pair of wings comes crashing into Reese’s leg, and Reese is immediately distracted. “Hi, baby!”

“Sorry,” Nora pants, coming up after Sky. “They heard the song and got excited.”

Ryan raises an eyebrow at Reese, who’s pointedly avoiding his gaze while Sky steps onto her feet. “Starting them on those old Chinese songs early, are you?”

He leaves them like that, Reese and Nora swaying with each other with Sky in between, standing on their moms’ feet, laughing as he finds his way to the refreshments table.

—

Ryan’s sipping some water and munching on the dinner he’d abandoned earlier in the gazebo as he watches the festivities when Miao approaches him, resting a hand on a pillar off to the side as she waits for him to notice.

Ryan hurriedly puts down his fork and wipes his mouth. “Oh, hey! Come, have a seat.”

Miao sits down, smoothing her pink gown. Her hair’s in an elaborate updo, held together by gold ribbons and clips, and she looks incredible, but as he watches her pause before taking the proffered seat, he can see she’s as nervous as he is.

He smiles at her. “How are you? Having fun? Where’s the little sweetheart?”

She smiles back. “He fall asleep early, so I ask niece bring him home.” She cocks her head when the music changes. “I like the music. Old, is how home sound like.” Then she points her chin at his food. “Eat, don’t want you hungry at wedding day. Don’t worry, not rude.”

“I agree. I used to listen to it all the time. My parents would play the radio all the time at the salon, so this music brings me back,” Ryan laughs. “And uh, okay. Thanks because I’m _starving._ ”

Miao laughs. “I speak from experience, so when I go wedding, I always sit with couple, talk and let them eat. I already sit with Ning, make him finish dinner.”

“You’re a true hero,” Ryan says gratefully, as he wrestles out the meat of a lobster claw with his fork. “Thank you for bringing him over on the night of our bachelor parties, by the way. And for being in the tea ceremony. That was really nice of you. Really. I… I hope that wasn’t too hard for you.”

He eats as politely as he can despite his growling stomach, while she sips more of her champagne. Then, she sets her glass down and says, “He love you. I am happy you find each other.”

Ryan wipes at his mouth and swallows. It’s not lost on him that Ning and Miao broke up after three years of dating, while he and Ning got _married_ after the same amount of time. He sighs, looking her in the eye. She looks at him with astounding kindness, with sincere joy—for him and Ning. “I’m sorry. I’m not apologizing for Ning, but I _am_ sorry for the part I played.”

She waves his apology away. “We had own problems, not only with you. I forgive him years ago. Of course, hurt because I did love him, but no longer.” She puts her hand over his. “I moved on. But he continue hurt.” She smiles wryly. “I should have known earlier; he never good at hide own feelings. Especially feelings for you. He hurt long time, hide long time.”

“Yeah. He told me about that, a little.” He turns over the hand she’s holding and squeezes hers. “Thank you so much for helping him through it,” Ryan says a little awkwardly. “I’m sure he went a long time without anyone in his corner. You didn’t have to do that for him, but you did.”

Miao shakes her head, lips curving into a smile. “He is my friend, and he deserve happiness. So I am happy to do part in make sure you two happy.”

Ryan polishes off the rest of his noodles and stands up. “Would it be awkward to ask if I can hug you right now?” he asks. “Because I want to, but if that’s weird—”

She steps into his arms and hugs him. “You think too much,” she admonishes jokingly. “You think I dress Chun okay today?”

Ryan sputters as they break apart. “I—You—Ning told you about that?”

“Worry about that later. You think he look okay today?”

“Are you kidding? _Both_ of you look great. I’d ask if you wanted a job if I didn’t know you just signed on for that detective TV show reboot.”

She shrugs modestly. “Remember when I come to New York last year? Niece let me borrow Netflix, I watch a little _Queer Eye,_ learn tips.”

Hand over his heart, Ryan gasps dramatically. “Miao, why didn’t you say sooner? You have to tell me all your thoughts. Right. Now.”

—

After some more dancing around with Janet (“Thank you so much for not putting Adele in your playlist.” “Uh, Jan?” “Yeah?” “This _is_ Adele.” “ _What?_ ” “Ow! I was kidding! Though she does show up later. When you’re too drunk to mind. Ow!”), Lakey (“Does this mean I call you guys Uncle Ryan and Uncle Ning from now on?” “You take that back!” “Whatever you say, Uncle Ryan!”), and Nora (“I am _so_ glad Adele isn’t in this—where are you going?” “I’m not doing that again”), Ryan finds himself back in Ning’s arms.

“Honey, Annie told me they haven’t been able to get a picture of your beautiful face all day because you’ve been too busy looking at me.”

Ning shrugs. “True.” He steers them away from another dancing couple—James and his husband may have had a bit too much to drink—and grins. “I cannot deny.”

“Can you at least _try_ to face the camera every now and then?”

“Why?” Ning cocks his head. “When all I want to look at is you?”

Ryan whacks his chest lightly. “You utter sap. Because _future me_ wants to be able to see your face, obviously. That’s why I’ve been making sure Annie gets all my good angles. For future you’s sake.”

“I guess I can try,” Ning concedes solemnly with great reluctance, before they start cracking up. They dance for a while in silence, luxuriating in each other’s arms, before Ning asks, “I saw you with Miao. Okay?”

“Yeah. I think we’re friends now?” He whacks Ning in the chest again. “I can’t believe you told her I didn’t like her taste in fashion!”

Ning shrugs, grinning. “In some ways, she is similar to Janet. Gets you drunk, then make you spill secrets.” He clears his throat as they continue swaying, leading them away from the speakers. “I’m glad you are on good terms. I don’t deserve good people like her and you.”

“No, you don’t,” Ryan agrees, laughing when Ning gives him his own whack on the chest. They continue swaying together, foreheads pressed together. They’re dancing a little too slowly for the song, but neither of them cares.

—

Ryan is relieved it’s time to bring out the wedding cake because the food from dinner has been put away and he’s still hungry. After they clear the dance floor, two caterers wheel out the towering wedding cake. Behind Ryan and Ning, their guests watch with them as the caterers step away to reveal the cake in all of its rose gold-ombre glory.

He eyes it from the bottom, following the swirl of rainbow butterflies flying across all five layers of the cake, the layers lightening from warm pink to the faintest hint of cherry blossoms the higher it goes. When his eyes reach the top of the top of the cake, he’s met with two rainbow-colored butterflies, like he expected, but also _crab and panda wedding cake toppers,_ which he didn’t.

He knocks his shoulder into Ning’s lightly when he sees them before pulling him in by the sleeves for a kiss, thumbs tracing the linework on the cufflinks he had given Ning so many years ago. His eyes are wet once again as he thinks about Ning calling him _American-borrow Chinese_ the first time they met before unceremoniously tossing a crab leg onto his plate, then the night Ning uncovered his tattoo…

“You like my surprise?” Ning asks, grinning, breaking Ryan out of his thoughts.

“Don’t even talk to me,” Ryan says back, wiping his eyes. “Stop making me cry so much!”

Ning opens his mouth to retort, but they’re interrupted by the crowd to cut the cake. They hold the knife together and gingerly cut from the top layer, leaving the two rainbow-colored butterflies on it intact. Ning takes his bite from Ryan’s fork slowly, the heat in his eyes a simmering promise for later. They wash down their first bites of the cake with glasses of champagne Mom pushes into their hands, arms interlocked as they tilt the glasses into each other’s mouths.

The champagne goes down sweet and easy. Laughing as they untangle their arms, their eyes meet, and Ryan almost forgets to breathe as he realizes it for the umpteenth time today: Ryan is Ning’s _husband._ _Has_ been, since this morning, which is _incredible_ , because…

They actually made it—past the struggles of being long-distance, hiding their relationship until they were ready to come out, constantly aching for each other every time they had to part. The guilt, the self-doubt.

The pain.

Nothing hurts anymore. Hasn’t, for a long time, but he’s never been more aware of it than now. Of the sweetness of the frosting when Ning gives him a sticky kiss, the soft laugh he exhales before retaliating by smearing frosting on Ning’s nose, the gentle but insistent tug of his wrists as Ning pulls him closer to rub their noses together.

They move over to the side to let the caterers take over cutting the cake for everyone else, giggling as they rub the frosting off each other’s faces with their thumbs. All around them, their families and friends are largely ignoring them, too focused on sampling every layer.

After everyone has settled down with their cake, the toasting begins.

* * *

_—from actual toasts—_

“—will downplay his place in my life to the day he dies, but Uncle Ryan has always been a core part of our family. He’s been there since day one, watching me grow up—and so have I! I’ve seen Uncle Ryan deal with family loss, career challenges, the Pad Fiasco of 2020, falling in love, and now, starting a new life together with Uncle Ning—” (Lakey)

“—difference is _so big._ If you met my son for the first time before he and Ryan reunited, you never saw what he looks like when he is happy. _(choked up)_ _I_ never saw what he looks like when he is happy, until—” (Māmā)

“—want to welcome Ryan into our family. We always believe our good fortune is to have one good son, and now we have two—” (Bàba)

_—to loving roasts—_

“—so we talk every day, right? First day Ning comes back, Ryan sends me a dozen S.O.S. texts. The rest of the week, until he comes over to help me trim my hair? Complete. Radio. Silence. I’m not even _kidding_ —” (Reese)

“—told him Ryan asked after his girlfriend, and you know what Ning said? ‘He’s just being polite.’ Listen, if an _ex_ is asking—” (James)

“—sure, Damien’s a chef, so of course you could argue that that’s why he cooks for me. But _Ning_ isn’t, so what does _that_ say—” (Janet)

“—in love with Ryan for long time, is part of Ning. Ryan make him happier, braver—but you know who also brave? _Me._ I still dare show my face with my name, after Ning tell whole _country_ what Ryan tell him about what my name mean—” (“Sorry!”) (Miao ft. Ning and Ryan)

“—and then there you have Ryan, crying his heart out over Ning doing his own bachelor party. I wish I’d thought to take pictures. Anyway, if you want visuals, think back to 2021. Winter. Gaylaxy pastels everywhere. Janet’s just caught our bouquet—which was a killer save, by the way—and I’m about to toast the love of my life, who I just married. Then, _who_ do I see running up to me, tears streaming down her _face,_ which makes me start panicking, because oh god—” (Nora)

_—to unsubtle boasts—_

“—deserve _some_ credit for getting them together. Janet, too. What, Ryan, you think I told Ning to pose like that _by accident?_ If you bought that, well, I have a bridge to sell you—” (Annie)

“—and I know _James_ likes to say he’s the one who convinced Ryan to watch _The Same Wife,_ which set this whole thing in motion, but if _I_ hadn’t reached out to tell him about the FashionEASTas _five years ago_ —and all those _looks_ at each other, damn—” (Dex)

“—if want argue like _that,_ then _I_ win because I see first _ten years ago._ Who see them and right away know Ryan and Ning are ‘a lifetime to cool down’? _Me._ So I—”  
“No, I see first! Only after I remind you say, ‘Gay people okay. White people no okay,’ you say ‘lifetime.’ Who know, if I no remind, what happen Ryan and Ning today? Also, they only _pretending_ at time. If I no talk to Ning later—”  
“Fine. Fine. If you want—”  
“I _do_ want—” (Dad ft. Mom)

* * *

Ryan gets such a nice buzz from the champagne that he doesn’t even mind how often his face heats up as everyone continues ribbing him and Ning, the two of them taking turns to hide their faces in each other’s shoulders. He’s proud of the fact that he only stumbles once on his way to the center of the clearing from the gazebo. At least he doesn’t drop his glass of champagne.

“Alright, alright,” he says into the microphone, after everyone is done making him cry. He wipes at his eyes uselessly. “First of all, thank you so much to everyone for _extremely_ illuminating observations about Ning I’ll definitely be asking him about later. Second, _I_ am not thanking anyone for embarrassing me, and I am especially _not_ thanking Reese for going into extreme detail about just many times I’ve seen _The Same Wife._ Screw you, Reese! Okay, okay, I’ll thank my parents because I am a good Chinese son. I love you, Mom and Dad. And okay, fine, I love the rest of you, too. I wish I met all of you earlier because I also feel like I would’ve had an easier time accepting myself if I’d known there were people out there like you.”

“Hey, you should be making Ning cry, not us!” Janet shouts. “Toast your new husband!”

“I didn’t—I didn’t prepare anything!” Ryan yells back over the increasingly loud chants of _TOAST! TOAST!_ led by Nora. “What should I say?”

“What did you think of him when you first met him?” Nora yells out, cupping her hands over her mouth. “First impressions?”

“I hated him,” Ryan says immediately, raising his glass to Ning, his eyes on Ning’s wide smile. The crowd laughs. “He was so—so Chinese and loud and annoying. He hated French food and would say things in Chinese I didn’t understand. I didn’t like how he pronounced my name or how he kept going on about wanting to show the world the new China and didn’t seem to care about the American market, which was the only thing _I_ cared about.” Back in the gazebo, Ning doubles over laughing, which is when Ryan has to stop, too, cracking up himself. “I didn’t like that he wouldn’t listen to Gus, the photographer, during a shoot, which was when I got fired. And as a stylist and a gay one _at that,_ I didn’t like the way he dressed.”

“My fault, sorry!” Miao calls out.

“Forgiven!” Ryan calls back. “I hated _so much_ about him, you guys.” He exhales, letting the good-natured laughter from the crowd wash over him. “After he left, I tried not to think about him for seven years, until he decided he wanted to work with me again, no matter what. And _then_ , Reese here decided to make it her diabolical mission to _convince_ me to take the job—”

“I have done nothing wrong, ever, in my life!” Reese exclaims, affronted.

“I know this, and I love you!” Ryan yells back, pointing at her, and the crowd _roars._ “Fast forward to a few months after I’ve been successfully convinced, Ning comes back, and he’s… so different. So different that we ended up getting married in the same place he first charmed my family—and me—a little over ten years ago today. When he came back into my life three years ago, I learned that… that he’s still as funny and charming as when we first met, something I only realized after I stopped hating him, but he’s also so… patient and gentle and _sees_ me…”

He presses his hands to his face as he breaks down into a full-on sob because while he’s a bit drunker than he thought, he’s also overwhelmed by just how _differently_ everything could’ve turned out.

Ryan could’ve easily continued to work himself to the bone, in an effort to close the hole in his chest—from Ning leaving his life ten years ago, from dismissing his anxiety about losing his parents with so many things left unsaid, from ignoring the fear that the little Chinese culture still in his life would disappear completely once his parents were gone, until there was nothing remaining of his idealistic, passionate younger self. He could’ve pushed everyone who cared about him away, accusing them of keeping him from his work, until there was no one left, and then he would be even worse off than when he first met Reese, distrustful and closed off.

As for Ning… Ryan thinks about what Ning’s told him about the seven years they were apart. The aggressive badgering about when he was going to find a new girlfriend. The quiet suffering he had endured by himself after leaving Ryan. The constant looking over his shoulder he had to do every time he even contemplated expressing interest in a man as his fame grew, all while knowing a secret flirtation wouldn’t ease his loneliness, his pain.

Then Ryan thinks about how Ning’s life could’ve turned out if he hadn’t come back to New York. He thinks about Ning continuing to throw himself into his work and becoming even more famous, all while knowing he was making it harder for himself to live with his secret. About the weight of it continuing to grow, about it becoming harder and harder to carry. About his constant debates with himself about whether he could continue living like this, fights with himself about what he could do to find happiness. Whether he deserves to.

Ryan’s face scrunches up even more, and he can’t stop the heaving sobs wracking his body as he helplessly imagines Ning growing old by himself, hair white and frame hunched over, always smiling that fake, empty smile in public that Ryan hasn’t seen since the critic screening for _The Same Wife_ so many years ago and dropping the mask when he’s alone again, with only his secrets and regrets to keep him company, never knowing Ryan, still by himself all the way in New York, still loved him after all these years—

There’s a crash somewhere nearby, followed by a _lot_ of really loud cheering, and then, suddenly, Ning’s in front of him, pressing Ryan to his chest and wrapping his arms around him. Ryan sobs into Ning’s poor tux for another half-minute over the thought of him and Ning growing old separately and alone before peeking over Ning’s shoulder to see all the chairs Ning knocked over in his haste to get to him.

Ning rubs his back soothingly, rocking their bodies together in a comforting back-and-forth sway. Ryan giggles wetly as he wiggles his arms out of Ning’s crushing embrace to hug him back, clenching the fabric of Ning’s tux in his fists. Shivering as the warmth from Ning spreads to his own body, he inhales Ning’s scent shakily as he slowly calms down. His sobs turn into weak, shuddery breaths, but Ryan doesn’t pick his head up, too embarrassed to show his face now that the previous drunkenness has dissipated.

“I don’t think he’s coming back out,” Janet observes. “Too shy.”

“Hey,” Ning says with no heat. “You leave my husband alone.” More quietly, he asks, “You okay, bǎobèi?”

Ryan nods, but makes no move to separate, content to stay cradled in Ning’s arms.

“Hey, since you’re up there already, you want to tell us _your_ first impressions of Ryan?” Nora asks. “Sorry, Ryan, for making you cry.”

“No, you’re not.” Still hiding his face in Ning’s shoulder, he waves at her dismissively before wrapping his arm around Ning’s waist again.

“Oh, so easy to answer,” Ning says to Nora, as he continues to rub Ryan’s back. “I hated him, too. So American—Americans so annoying, you know. Always want things made in America. Things made in China, they think no good. My first time in America, I am thinking China, China, China so much, Ryan probably think _I_ am worst thing made in China.”

Ryan chuckles wetly at that, drowned out by their audience’s giggles. He kisses the closest part of Ning he can reach, which turns out to be his neck.

“He hate everything Chinese, so of course I hate him back.” Ning pauses to kiss Ryan’s hair, thinking. Quietly, he confesses, “I also hate him because he can be himself so openly, be gay and live like this every day. Under all that hate, I was jealous and not oblivious man; I know from the start he is very attractive, very beautiful. Only after I give him chance and get to know him, I learn he is hardworking, thoughtful, creative… Brave, resilient. Seven years later, he is still like that.” He sighs and presses his lips to Ryan’s right ear. “How can I not still love him after all this time?“

Ryan takes another peek at Ning and finds him already looking at him. Ning’s gaze is gentle and familiar on him, and Ryan can’t remember the last time he was afraid to look at him, afraid to see Ning not looking back. He can’t stop looking, either; as worn out as Ning looks after the past two days of non-stop tidying up last-minute snafus and fussing about forgotten details and placating jet-lagged, grumpy relatives, Ryan still finds him incredibly captivating, impossible to look away from.

He’s suddenly reminded of the way Ning had looked so haggard in the opening scene of _The Same Wife_ —the first time Ryan had laid eyes on him in seven years—and _stunned_ at how different Ning looks now. Part of it was makeup, he knows, but he’s seen the movies and interviews Ning has done during those seven years, observed that same weariness, that same resignation.

Now, it’s gone. Ning’s still tired right now, but it’s superficial. Underneath, he’s all joy and contentment, confidence and love. He hadn’t noticed the difference before, but now that he knows what he’s looking for, he sees it in the furrow of Ning’s eyebrows, the easiness of his smile, and the set of his shoulders, which is when he realizes—

Ryan hadn’t noticed the change because he’s been by Ning’s side to _live_ through that growth, to blossom into it little by little, each and every day.

His mouth drops into an O, and they’re both so caught up in looking at each other that it takes them a good minute to realize all their guests are clinking their glasses. With a sheepish laugh, they meet in the middle for another well-deserved kiss.

—

As everyone finishes up their cake, Ryan and Ning start sending them off with butterfly-adorned tins of assorted mooncakes. After multiple bear hugs from Nora, Reese, Janet, Miao, and James, a cheeky _Goodnight Uncle Ryan and Uncle Ning_ from Lakey, and a mumbled _Good night_ from a drowsy Sky, Ryan and Ning are met with their parents at the end of the line, who are armed with the now eighteen-year-old Good Camera for the express purpose of updating Ryan and Ning’s old prom-esque photos.

With a laugh, Ryan and Ning pose with practiced ease, no parental prompting needed. Then they take turns taking family pictures of every permutation possible. Ryan’s pretty sure all the ruffling and jostling of the day have rendered his hair irredeemable, but he makes a valiant attempt to pat it down anyway.

After their parents are satisfied with the amount of pictures they’ve taken with Ryan and Ning in every combination possible, they start in with their own hugs.

“Don’t be so scared when you speak Mandarin, okay?” Māmā hugs Ryan fiercely. “You’re doing fine!”

“Oh! Uh, xièxiè, Māmā (谢谢，妈妈)!” Ryan then her go to shake Bàba’s outstretched hand, who rolls his eyes and pulls him in for a hug of his own. “Wǎn'ān, Māmā, Bàba (晚安，妈妈爸爸)!” _[“Thank you, Mom” and “Good night, Mom and Dad” in Mandarin]_

Mom’s full-on weeping by the time Ryan gets to wishing her and Dad goodnight; they’re the very last in line. “So happy happy,” she keeps saying, as she embraces him tightly. The tin digs into his side, but he ignores the pain. In his peripheral vision, he can see Ning’s parents wrapping Ning into a fierce group hug. “Chinese wedding, so happy! I love you so much, my baby. Take care, you two.”

“I will,” Ryan promises, hugging her back just as tightly before hugging Dad. He hugs them both so hard that he lifts them off the ground. “I love you, too. Get home safe, okay? Take care.”

“I love you. Take care,” Dad echoes thickly, wiping his eyes. He gives Ning a fierce hug of his own, patting him on the back twice before letting go.

“Take care.” Then Mom turns to Ning. “I love you, too. I am your other mother now, better treat me like, okay?”

“Ho (好),” Ning says, grinning. Then, more softly to them both, “Zou tau, Ah Ma, Ah Ba (早唞，啊媽，啊爹).” _[“Okay” and “Goodnight, Mom and Dad” in Cantonese]_

—

Ryan follows Ning into their house wordlessly, hanging both of their suit jackets with care. They strip off in silence, too, clinging to each other in the shower as they recenter themselves and wash off everything from today but the presence of each other.

Halfway through their shower, as Ryan washes Ning’s hair, his heartbeat quickens when he catches glimpses of Ning’s tattoo, starts tracing the outline of it. Brushing Ning’s hair out of the way, Ryan presses a soft kiss to it. In response, Ning utters a pleased groan and invites Ryan to dig his fingers more deeply in his scalp.

After Ning’s washed Ryan’s hair in return, Ryan exits the shower in a towel, leaving Ning to prune as much as he wants. He perches on the window ledge of their bedroom and looks out at the night sky, marveling at the cityscape, wrapping the familiar, quiet ocean of sound around himself.

Having always lived in cities that outshine the stars, neither he nor Ning has ever seen a starlit sky. As he watches cars make their late-night treks across the Queensboro Bridge, the lights illuminating the bridge and twinkling all the while, he can’t imagine that he’s missing out.

Ryan is so deep in his thoughts that he doesn’t realize Ning’s left the shower until he’s in front of him, dripping water on Ryan as he dries off. Still sitting on the window ledge, Ryan grabs the edges of Ning’s towel from him and starts toweling him off as Ning reaches behind him and pulls the curtains closed, leaving only a sliver of moonlight and the small radius of light coming from the bedside lamp on the other side of their bedroom.

He takes extra care the lower he gets, looking up and grinning as he carefully wipes between Ning’s thighs. He’s rewarded with a small gasp and Ning grasping his shoulders for support.

“How are you feeling?” Ryan sets Ning’s towel on the ledge and stands up. “You up for anything, or do you just want to sleep?”

Ning cradles Ryan’s face in his hands and kisses him sweetly. Their first kiss of their first night as a married couple. “I want you. If you’re not too tired.”

“You know me, I’m always up for it.” Ryan bites his lip coyly. “What about the things we talked about? You game for those?”

Ning groans, pressing their bodies together. A pleasant jolt runs through Ryan’s body when he makes contact with Ning’s warm skin. “You’re going to kill me.”

“What’s with you and all this talk of spousicide?” Ryan leads him to the bed and pauses as he takes in all the red and gold, the dragon and the phoenix. “It feels weird to have sex on top of all… this. I’m going to get some towels.”

He laughs as he gestures at the bed, the happiness in his chest bubbling over at the ridiculousness of all the fertility stuff, which is all there because they’re now _married._ They promised each other a lifetime together in front of all of their loved ones today, ten years after they walked out of each other’s lives, seemingly for good, before finding each other again three years ago, against all odds. They’ve come so far from when they first met and even from when they first came back into each other’s lives, and he has to just laugh again at the wonder that is his and Ning’s life together before forcing himself to move.

“The things you want to do, Ryan, I am pretty sure will kill me, that’s why,” Ning calls after him, as he ducks into the bathroom. “Remember last time you try? You always say I am dangerous; turns out you have been the real danger all this time.”

“I failed, though.” Ryan lays two towels flat on the bed, then throws a third one on top of them for good measure. “Wait, so can we try to do both? Or just one?”

“One can be done while doing the other,” Ning says dryly. He stands at the edge of the bed, pulling Ryan to him. “Hi, husband.”

Ryan shakes his head and laughs, pulling Ning in even closer. Pressing his forehead against Ning’s, he smiles at Ning as he wraps his arms around Ning’s waist. As always, Ning’s body against his feels like home, but tonight, the feeling is tinged with something more. Expanded.

Ning brushes his nose against Ryan’s, the look in his eye the whisper of a kiss. An observation, a declaration of desire, a statement of fact. Then Ning presses his lips against his, and Ryan has to close his eyes at that, still feeling the warmth of his lips on his own after he pulls away. The promise—the lifetime.

For a moment, Ryan just breathes Ning in, eyes still closed. Enveloped in his arms, Ryan’s breath catches as his world undergoes another expansion when he reminds himself again that Ning is now his husband. “It’s been such a long day that I can’t believe I almost forgot. It feels like we got married a long time ago,” Ryan murmurs. “Hi, lǎogōng.”

“Show-off.” The palms of Ning’s hands are flat on Ryan’s back for only a second, molding to the curve of his spine as Ning makes his way from Ryan’s back to his hips. Ning cups his ass and presses their pelvises even closer together. “I love you.”

“I know.” Then, when Ning pokes a ticklish spot on his side, Ryan amends with a giggle, “I love you, too.”

Ryan rests his head on Ning’s shoulder and sighs, pressing little kisses to Ning’s neck before looking up at the face he knows best in the world. “Did you ever think we’d get here, when we were saying goodbye to each other ten years ago? When we were always fighting? Hell, when we first _met,_ in that restaurant?”

Ning looks back at him with a playful smile on his lips. “Ryan, didn’t you know? You promised to be mine the moment you accept my proposal gift and dip it into your tea to get rid of all the grease. You think I first propose the morning after we get back together, but I already did it ten years ago.”

“Well, I was, ten years ago, too.” At Ning’s confused look, Ryan clarifies softly, “Yours. Always have been, always will be.”

They share another kiss, slow and unhurried, hands running over each other to chase the night chill away. God, he can’t get over just how _lucky_ they are, how so much aligned for them to _have_ this. It doesn’t take long before they’re grinding against each other, with no agenda or direction or hurry at all.

“You know, if I _really_ wanted to show off, I’d do _this._ ” As they kiss again, Ryan cups Ning’s thigh with his hand, encouraging Ning to wrap his leg around Ryan’s waist. After Ryan hooks his arm more securely under the leg Ning has wrapped around his waist, he hooks his other arm under Ning’s other leg as well, before lifting Ning completely off the ground, still kissing him all the while.

With a startled gasp, Ning breaks the kiss and looks at him, stunned.

“Cool, right?” Ryan asks, once he’s sure that he won’t drop Ning.

“Is this why you ask me about workout routine I did for the action movie?” Ning wraps his arms around Ryan’s neck. He shakes his head, but he’s grinning. “Why you like to show off so much?”

“To get strong enough to lift you,” Ryan corrects, as he sets Ning down on the bed gently. “Showing off is just a plus.”

“I’m impressed.” Ning gives himself a stroke as Ryan crawls between his legs. “Just when I think no more surprises, you prove me wrong.”

“I’ve done that before. Proven you wrong,” Ryan points out, as he exhales right over Ning’s cock. Ning shudders, his hips pressing up slightly when Ryan gives him a lick, followed by a chaste kiss on the tip. His gaze is then drawn lower, to where Ning’s skin is glistening.

“I got ready in shower,” Ning explains, when he notices Ryan looking. “I don’t want to wait.”

“Baby, you know I’m still gonna draw it out.”

“Yes,” Ning says faintly as Ryan swirls his tongue around the head, “because you love to torture me.”

“Where do you think I get it from?” Ryan massages his perineum, before going lower and pressing a finger to the skin there, not entering just yet. “I love you. You’re so beautiful like this, completely at my mercy.”

Ning shakes his head, smiling but losing focus fast. “I, ah, played myself.”

Ryan laughs as Ning’s thighs quiver when he kisses both of them. “Alright, I won’t make you talk anymore, promise.” With that, he licks the tip of Ning’s length again, stroking the rest of him with one hand and cradling his testicles with the other. Pressing the flat of his tongue against the underside of his dick, Ryan keeps his eyes on Ning as he runs his fingers lightly across the part of him not in his mouth. He lets the saliva gather in his mouth before finally putting his mouth on Ning, relishing the groan that falls from Ning’s lips.

Ning stretches out his arms and grabs the headboard with both of his hands, pushing his right leg up so his foot is flat on the bed. “So good,” he grits out, as Ryan takes in more and more of him. “You feel so good.”

Ryan grabs Ning’s hips and flutters his eyelashes as he looks up at him, knowing that gets him going. He pulls off briefly before taking him into his mouth again, this time all the way. He then hums in his throat, delighting in Ning squirming at the vibrations, enjoying the weight of him in his mouth.

His poor knees start cramping soon after, though, so he shifts himself to lie flat on the bed, the soft towel underneath doing all kinds of things to his own dick. As he grinds down, he starts fucking Ning with a finger, and oh god, he’s so hot inside. He can feel himself leaking on the towel in sympathy.

“Ryan, _please,_ ” Ning begs just as Ryan chokes on his cock and adds another finger, trying but failing to keep himself from making little fucking motions with his hips, but his body is indecisive, torn between Ryan’s mouth and his fingers. Ryan takes particular delight in feeling Ning’s thighs shake under his hands, hearing Ning’s increasingly loud moans, watching Ning’s hands grip and pull at the towels.

After a good ten seconds of suction, Ryan pulls off, removing his fingers, and Ning whimpers, glaring at Ryan as he props himself up with an elbow and uses his other hand to jack Ning off. They’re both breathing hard.

Hoarsely, Ryan asks, “Please what?”

“Fuck me,” Ning rasps out, continuing to tilt his hips up into Ryan’s hand. “I want you.” He clasps his hand and the one Ryan already has on his cock together, pushing up into their tight, slick grip, as he guides Ryan’s other hand back down to where it just was. “Inside me.”

“Okay.” Ryan swallows, clumsily scrambling off the bed. “Okay.” He’s not proud to admit he trips over nothing as he runs to the bathroom, washing his hands and rinsing out his mouth, but he doesn’t hear Ning laugh, so he knows Ning must be feeling _really_ impatient.

“I’m starting without you!” Ning calls out just as Ryan comes back in.

Ryan’s mouth goes completely dry. Ning is on his hands and knees, three fingers already in himself. Ryan’s always been more of the exhibitionist between them, Ning preferring to just watch, but he _has_ been getting more brazen over the years, tonight definitely being the most daring.

“Well? Why you just stand there?” Ning asks breathily.

Ryan gulps. “Clearly, I’m not needed here.”

“If you don’t come over here right now, I’ll divorce you.”

Forcing himself to move, Ryan gets on the bed and pushes Ning’s hand out of the way, grinding himself against him. “What happened to all that stuff you said?”

“What?” Ning asks distractedly. “Why are you still _talking?_ ”

“About how you’d be _so_ sad if today was your first and last day of being my husband,” Ryan teases as he positions himself, eyes greedily devouring the lovely lines of Ning’s back. “Remember?”

Ning looks back with a glare. “I changed my mind,” he says flatly, pressing a hand to himself.

Ryan knocks his hand out of the way. “No hands, baby. Remember what we said?”

“What _you_ said,” Ning grumbles irritably. “When are you going to—”

Ryan drags himself along the lube already there, pressing just the tip inside. “Going to what?” he asks, when Ning doesn’t answer. “Ready?”

“Please,” Ning begs feebly.

“Hold on.” Ryan enters slowly, considerably slower than they usually go at it. He grits his teeth as Ning’s body welcomes him, huffing out a soft laugh once he’s completely inside. “Still want to divorce me?”

Ning’s knuckles are white as he grips the headboard. “I will if you continue to stop like this,” he threatens weakly.

Ryan kisses his shoulder as he gives him a slow, deep thrust. “Now you know how I feel. How the tables—”

“Ryan.” Ning sounds deathly calm. “I love you, but if you continue tease, I will finish job myself. Never have sex with you again.”

Ryan gulps when Ning clenches around him, fucks back on him. “Uh, noted,” he gasps, breath stuttering as his brain short-circuits, before he grabs Ning’s hips and finally starts fucking him in earnest.

Ning’s whole body shakes with each thrust, and he’s so overwhelmed that he loses his grip on the headboard and grabs at the towel instead. Ryan takes this chance to cover Ning’s body with his own, touching his chest to Ning’s back. Ning curls his legs backward around Ryan the best he can, letting out a gasp as Ryan rakes his teeth across Ning’s tattoo. Then Ryan covers Ning’s hands with his, and they move with each other as a well-practiced dance.

“I, uh.” Ryan’s concentration breaks again as Ning’s legs, which are bracketing his, tighten around him. “That day you pretended to be my boyfriend. Before my—they came. When we’d just woken up.” He presses his nose to Ning’s neck, eagerly taking in the scent of Ning’s sweat, their lovemaking. “You were so beautiful. I wanted to kiss you.”

“Not just me, then,” Ning gasps out. His hands are stiff underneath Ryan’s, which is when Ryan remembers Ning hasn’t been touching himself at all this whole time, his cock swollen and neglected and dripping at a steady rate under him.

“I didn’t… I didn’t want to look away because you just looked so… so happy. Like I was the first person you wanted to see after waking up.” Ryan blinks back tears as he kisses Ning’s shoulder blade, then as much of his back as he can reach. “I didn’t know what it was at first. Then I realized I liked you. Realized you looked so beautiful that I didn’t want to look away. I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”

Ning turns his head for a kiss. “Me, too. I already found you attractive. But that morning, first time I realized I wanted to do something about it. I just didn’t know what.”

“I still can’t keep my eyes off you,” Ryan admits. Not that this is news to Ning. “I couldn’t even pay attention to anything today. Not with you there, looking like that. I just love you so much.” He kisses Ning behind the ear again, quickening his thrusts. “I love how you hold me, how you kiss me, like nothing else matters.”

“Nothing else does.” Ryan is always taken aback by how matter-of-fact Ning sounds during moments like these, and tonight is no different. “I love you. I barely focus today; half of me can’t believe we got here, and other half can’t believe we didn’t already. Now I am yours, and you are mine.”

“I have been, for a long time,” Ryan says, voice thick with emotion. Ning turns over the hand he has under Ryan’s, and they cling to each other like a lifeline. “Are you close? Please be close. I can’t—”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Ning sounds stunned. “Yes.”

“Ning, I love you, I love you,” Ryan babbles, full-on snapping his hips against Ning now. He leans back on his feet, pulling Ning to himself, back onto his cock. “Will you come for me, honey? Please? Just like this, baby, you can do it, I know you can—”

With one more kiss to Ning’s tattoo, Ryan watches wide-eyed over Ning’s shoulder as Ning comes with a cry, completely untouched, all over the towel. The sight is so hot that Ryan’s coming a second later with one last thrust, shaking all over.

After separating carefully, Ryan cradles Ning in his lap, his chest to Ning’s back, his whole body bracketing Ning’s from the chilly night air. Ning turns, seeking his mouth, and they kiss fervently, messy and wet, bodies still trembling.

“Ryan, I’m still—” Ning pants in his mouth, grabs his hand and guides it downward.

“Oh my god _,_ ” Ryan groans. “Can I—”

“Please.” Ning bites his lip, hands scrabbling at Ryan’s arms. “Please, I need—”

“Okay, okay, let me just—” Ryan has Ning lay his head on a pillow before mouthing at his dick eagerly, swallowing him down in one go. Ning trembles, clawing at the sheets, panting and cursing and begging, most of it unintelligible.

Encouraging Ning to take what he wants from him, Ryan keeps his mouth loose and pliant, his own cock making a valiant attempt to get hard again when Ning yanks his hair. Ning doesn’t even last half a minute, spilling in his mouth with his head thrown back, Ryan’s name on his lips.

Then he sinks back into the bed, his body now completely still. Ryan flops onto the bed on his back, Ning’s feet inches from his head. He studies Ning’s toes. Not even a twitch.

“Ning? You alive?” Ryan asks cautiously.

Ning groans, hand thrown over his face now. “Don’t think so. I was too old for this, and now I’m dead.”

All Ryan can do is laugh, so that’s what he does. Already breathless, he nearly chokes on his own laughter as he punches the air. “I did it!” He pokes Ning in the ankle. “Baby, I did it!”

“Congratulations,” Ning says dryly, his breathing growing slower and deeper. “You killed me.”

“Well…” Ryan waits a beat. “There must be a reason the French word for orgasm is ‘little death,’ right?”

(After taking a pillow to the face, Ryan’s then tackled into the wet spot, but it was so, so worth it.)

—

_two weeks later_

“You sure you’re not bored of playing tour guide?” Ryan asks as they walk up the path to the temple. “I love learning about this stuff, especially from you, but you don’t have to teach me, you know. I _do_ know how to Google.” He thinks for a moment. “Baidu, I mean.”

Ning knocks his shoulder into his, lowering his sunglasses to look at him. “You think this all for you? I came to Hangzhou once before, for press, but never had time to look around. I am a tourist just like you.”

Ryan looks around and takes in their surroundings: the chromatic autumn leaves of the trees framing the temple, the impressively ancient architecture, the temple-goers from all walks of life holding incense. After the anxiety-filled trip to Hong Kong and Beijing with their parents to visit relatives who hadn’t been able to go to the wedding, the rush to catch their flight to Hangzhou, and the dash to finish up their _Butterfly Lovers_ -themed photo shoot for their wedding album in the tiny window of time their photographer had available, the serenity of the Lingyin Temple is a welcome honeymoon pit stop. “You said we can make wishes here?”

“Only if you want,” Ning replies. “They say if you make a wish and it comes true, you have to come back to say thank you.”

“I’d love to come back. It’s so beautiful here.” Ryan takes off his sunglasses and cap, grabs Ning’s from him, and drops them all into his tote bag, before retrieving the incense that came with their admission tickets. “Shall we?”

As soon as they enter the temple, Ryan feels the shift in atmosphere—it’s much quieter, subdued. Following the people around them, he gets on his knees and lays his hands flat on the floor, palms facing the ceiling. Next to him, Ning does the same.

Then Ryan touches his head to the floor a few times, doing it a few more times after observing his neighbors and feeling guilty about spying on them. He wishes he knew more about Buddhism, just more about being Chinese in general—Mom had grown up Buddhist, but Dad hadn’t, so all he knows is to respect and believe in the spirits of his ancestors.

He peeks over at Ning again, watching him go through the movements like a natural. In contrast, he’s acutely aware of how stilted and awkward he looks when he tries to mimic everyone else, feeling a little guilty when he catches himself thinking about all the ways he isn’t Chinese enough again. Forcing himself to take a deep breath, he refocuses on what he’s supposed to be doing.

As he copies the way they bow, he mulls over what he wants to wish for. The smell of incense is strong, though—and just the tiniest bit distracting. He’s a little surprised, honestly. He’d grown up associating incense with Tomb-Sweeping Festival and white people burning it in his college dorm for reasons he didn’t really understand, feeling self-revulsion flare up within him upon smelling even a hint of fragrant smoke. Now, though, it just tickles his nose, even though the smell of it is much more concentrated, sweeter than he’s ever experienced it before.

It’s familiar, but still a bit different. With a start, he realizes that even though it’s a new experience, he’s not panicking as he once would have, about not being familiar with it. He’s… accepting he’s got a lot to learn while knowing he’s got a base of knowledge already—not sending himself into a panicked frenzy over being a bad Chinese person like he usually does, and…

He _wants_ to. He _wants_ to learn.

Right before he completes his last bow, he knows what to wish for.

—

After making a wish, they decide to hike all the way to the top of the mountain the temple sits on to see the view, instead of riding the cable car. The air feels good on Ryan’s face, in his hair.

“We are so lucky we come in November. China in the summer is too hot, too hot.” Ning sticks his sunglasses and cap back on as they climb. “What did you wish for?”

“I _know._ You remember that time I had to work with a client in Shanghai during the summer?”

“Of course. You complained to me every single day.” Ning laughs, light and easy. “You say you will go back to New York as a puddle.”

“I _did,_ ” Ryan grumbles, grabbing onto Ning when he steps on a worn step wrong. “My poor hair was suffering from all that humidity—and you _still_ made me send you daily selfies.”

“You still look very good. You always look very good.” Ning folds his arms. “Of course, then I try to make you feel better about Shanghai, and you don’t appreciate it.”

“Ning, if I say I don’t want ice near my dick,” Ryan says, deathly calm, “I don’t want ice near my dick.”

“I didn’t think it was that cold!” Ning protests. “I waited, like you asked, and then you _still_ kick me in the face.”

Sharing a laugh at that, they walk to the side of the trail and take out their water bottles, sitting for a moment and observing the people walking past them.

Ning presses up against his side as he takes a gulp of water. “So what did you wish for?”

Ryan smiles, shifting his gaze from the line of Ning’s throat as he swallows to his twinkling eyes. “What did _you_ wish for?”

Ning falters for a moment. His slight frown looks guilty. “I didn’t?”

Ryan raises an eyebrow. “Really? You look like you’re lying.”

Ning sighs, his smile just the tiniest bit sheepish. “I didn’t. Really.” When Ryan’s eyebrow goes even higher, he concedes, “This time.”

“ _This_ time?” Ryan looks at Ning intently, who’s now staring at the ground. Slowly, he says, “You didn’t make a wish _this time,_ which implies you _did_ make a wish some other time. The first time you came to Hangzhou?”

“Yes.”

Ryan’s mind whirs. “And now you’re back a second time, not to make a wish—but to say thank you. Because it came true.”

Ning nods, glancing at him before looking away again. Ryan studies the set of Ning’s shoulders. They’re slightly hunched forward, but he’s still relaxed, his weight sagging comfortably against Ryan’s side.

“You have that look on your face where you know I’m going to cry because it’s another of your dramatic romantic gestures,” Ryan accuses, already starting to tear up, damn it. At least he has sunglasses. “You made the wish almost four years ago. Before or after you knew we were going to see each other again?”

“Before.”

He knows the answer already, but asks anyway. “When did it come true?”

“Three years ago, maybe a little more,” Ning replies, just as quietly.

“What did you wish for?” he asks softly.

“You,” Ning says hesitantly. “I… I wanted to see you again. I was doing interview with _The Same Wife_ cast, all of us, in Hangzhou, and for a break, we do a little sightseeing. It was the day you tell James no, actually, and when I heard you can make a wish here, I thought… what do I have to lose?” He shrugs, before hastily adding, “I’m not angry you said no or—”

“I know, I know.”

“And not that I think my wish is how—”

Ryan snorts wetly. “Yeah, no, that was all Mom. Pushy Chinese moms are a power above all else.”

Ning asks tentatively, “Are you angry?”

“No, of course not! I just… I just wish we weren’t in public right now,” Ryan sniffles. “How _dare_ you be so—so _romantic_ and—when I can’t hold you—”

“Bǎobèi, come _here._ ” With that, he envelops Ryan in his arms for a good minute. He’s so warm and solid around him. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Ryan says, wiping at his eyes as they break apart, “but you have to hold off on all these romantic gestures, okay? My heart can’t take it.”

“You know I can’t promise that,” Ning replies, like Ryan knew he would.

They hike the rest of it in easy silence punctuated by birds chirping, other people making the journey themselves, the soft breeze whispering secrets into their hair. When they get to the top, about a dozen people are already there.

Ryan pauses to get his breath back, admiring the breathtaking view as the sun begins to set for the day. Next to him, slightly sweaty, Ning throws his head back, enjoying the breeze. Then Ning takes off his cap, letting the wind ruffle his hair, and they watch the view for a while.

“So like… why _can’t_ we step on those big steps in front of temples and stuff?” Ryan asks, thinking back to when they’d first arrived at the temple. “It has to be a bad luck or disrespect thing, right?”

“Yes.” He bumps his shoulder against Ryan’s. “Nice to know you know these things, too.”

“I guess I do,” Ryan says slowly, as they rehydrate. “Some of them, at least.”

“How are you liking our honeymoon in Hangzhou?”

“I’m loving it.” Ryan starts humming the McDonald’s jingle, and Ning laughs. “Will we be coming back?”

“Do you think your wish will come true?”

“I think it might have been true for a while, and I just didn’t realize it.” Ryan exhales. “I wished I knew more Chinese stuff, so you wouldn’t have to always explain everything to me.”

“I don’t mind. And you already know so much, Ryan.”

“Yeah, I’m. I’m starting to believe that about myself. Which is why I think it can count as already coming true? Maybe?”

“So we’ll come back.” Ning slings an arm around his shoulder. “Good.” He smiles at him softly. “I’m glad you are trusting yourself more.”

Ryan smiles back. “Me, too.”

—

_one week later_

“Ugh, this is getting ridiculous,” Ryan complains, even as he continues kissing Ning in the hot tub. “We got here two days ago and haven’t left this _room_ in just as long.”

“So? _How_ many times have you been to France, again?” Grinning unrepentantly, Ning hefts Ryan more securely into his lap. “Also, look around. What do you see?”

“I don’t know. What do you want me to be seeing?”

“We are in boiling water.”

“We are _not._ If we were, we would be dead,” Ryan retorts dryly.

“Still. Close enough, which means,” Ning says with a glint in his eye, “we are exactly where we are meant to be.”

Ryan splashes him.

“Worth it.” Ning grins, and then they’re kissing again.

—

_one year later_

Mom and Dad tire much more easily nowadays, but they insist on coming to Pride anyway, with their now two-year-old signs:《我們愛我們的兒子和他的老公！》and _We Love Our Son And His Husband!_ Leaving them with everyone else’s parents, including Ning’s, who’ve flown in for a visit, Ryan and Ning start making their way to where they’re meeting Reese and Nora, holding hands despite the already sticky heat.

It’s not their first Pride together, by any means. Before, Ning used to watch with Mom and Dad on the sidelines if his schedule permitted—or, if their schedules intersected, Ryan and Ning would go to local Prides in whatever city they were in at the time. Barring that, Ning would make a pit stop at Beijing Pride if he had time to visit his parents.

Last year was Ning’s first NYC Pride by Ryan’s side, and it’s still new enough of an experience that Ryan can’t stop running his thumb across Ning’s knuckles as they walk, still giddy about the fact that this is something he actually _has now,_ something he had been convinced could never be possible when he saw his family’s reaction to him coming out over dinner, back in college.

Then, he does the math, stopping in his tracks when it hits him.

Ning does, too. “You okay?”

Ryan shakes his head. “I… I’ve been out half my life now, and I’m… I have parents who love me, a company that focuses on gay Asians with my best friend, _you for a husband_ … and all in just twenty years! When I was younger, I never even let myself _think_ about being old enough to actually have a career, let alone anything like _this,_ you know?”

“Well, I can’t wait to see what you do next.” Ning kisses his hand. “I will be by your side every step of the way.”

—

_a few months later_

Ryan slips into bed minutes after Ning, pulling the blanket up to his shoulders. “Hey, baby.”

Ning props himself up on a pillow. “Hi.” He grabs Ryan’s hand and squeezes it. “You should’ve promoted Elle sooner. You come home so much earlier now. I like having this time with you.”

Ryan mirrors him. “I know, right? Our gaysian triumvirate is the actual dream team. And I really have to thank you for doing that food documentary series because not only are you home, but you always bring back the _best_ stuff.” They exchange a goodnight kiss, and when Ryan draws back, he notices Ning biting his lip. “Something on your mind?”

“Maybe.”

Ryan nods knowingly. “Thinking about the baby who’s going to be ours in a few months?”

Ning lets out an exhale and lies back down on his pillow. “Kind of? I am too nervous to think about that, so I’m thinking about—something related?”

Ryan trails a finger down Ning’s shoulder. “That’s fair. Alright, hit me.”

“Reese and Nora, you know they are adopting more kids… and I know we are only having one right now, but…” Ning clears his throat and takes a deep breath. “How many total would you want?”

Ryan furrows his eyebrows, thinking back to how he was always on his own. “I don’t know. Two? I feel like it was really lonely growing up as an only child.”

“Very lonely,” Ning agrees softly. Then he says, “Unfortunate for first child then. They will be only child for a while. Lonely as well.”

Ryan comes closer, wrapping his arms around Ning. “Babe, you’re thinking about this the wrong way. Our first kid wouldn’t be an only child because _Sky_ will be there. _They’re_ the older sibling.”

Ning hums. “But then Sky right now is an only child. Still lonely, lots of pressure placed on them with no one else to focus on.”

“No, Sky has Lakey.”

“Then, I guess, by your logic, Lakey has you?”

“Well, then, by _yours,_ I guess I’d have you,” Ryan says, before realizing what he just said. “Wai—”

Ning freezes, his whole body going rigid. “Ryan—are you saying—why would—that we are br—”

“You know what, I regretted it as soon as I said it, and I’m sorry,” Ryan sighs miserably.

“I thought we said we will never mention it again,” Ning groans. “You know, I screwed up a lot back then and asked you to do a lot of bad things, but the one thing I _never_ ask you to do is say _we are br_ —”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry!” Then Ning moves away and turns on his side, back facing Ryan. “Aw, babe, why are you leaving?”

“You kill mood, Ryan. I’m not going anywhere near you tonight.”

Ryan sighs. “I guess I deserved that. But do you think we should go ahead and invite Reese and Nora to brunch, ask them about IVF stuff again? Just to feel more ready for this?”

“As long as you don’t tell them about this conversation,” Ning says, voice muffled. Then, “I love you. Even though you still like to remind us both about how you called us br—”

“I’m sorry! I was just trying to be cute!” More softly, with a yawn, he replies, “Love you, too.”

—

_a few more months later_

He can’t stop looking at Joey’s scrunched up face, tiny fingers, and equally tiny toes. He just _can’t._ Joey came into the world only a month ago, and even though Ryan and Ning have barely had a chance to sleep in the meantime, Ryan never wants to go back to their life before. He much prefers the struggles of soothing a colicky baby and the joys of witnessing Joey’s firsts over worrying about the next client. Oblivious to Ryan’s staring, Joey continues sleeping in their bassinet.

Ning’s footsteps would be inaudible if Ryan didn’t grow up learning to distinguish floorboard creaking from slippers on wood. “Food’s ready,” Ning announces quietly from the doorway, grinning when Ryan doesn’t answer. “Admit it—you are _obsessed_ with Joey.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Ryan says helplessly. “Also, kettle.”

“When’s the last time you slept? And don’t think I don’t know you just wait until I fall asleep to get out of bed to look at them again.”

“How _can_ I?” Ryan wrings his hands. “Like, I’m a _dad_ now. _You’re_ a dad now. I thought I felt ready, but now Joey’s here, and I… don’t. Like… what if I mess up?” He sighs, looking away. “You know I had a strained relationship with my parents growing up. What if I turn out to be just as bad?”

“You know I didn’t have best relationship, either.” Ning comes over and sits on the bed with him, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I _also_ don’t feel ready. But you know how I _know_ we are?”

“Because we have each other?” Ryan bumps their shoulders together. “You utter sap.”

“Look at that, my Fashion Man is learning.” Ning gives him a gentle smile. “Every time we work together, it turns out well. This is just another like that, hm?” He rises from the bed and pulls Ryan up with him. “Let’s eat, okay? Food’s getting cold.” He smirks. “I won’t even force you to talk, just let you watch baby monitor the whole time, promise.”

“You’re a real hoot,” Ryan says dryly. “Not like you won’t be doing the same.”

But he goes, and Ning follows.

—

_two years later_

“Can I tell you something?” Ryan asks as he pours Ning tea. It’s their seventh anniversary, and Ning got them a private dining room at a new Chinese-French fusion restaurant overlooking the Hudson River for the evening. It’s a fairly simple room, consisting of just a big window that frames the sunset beautifully, a few vases of jasmine flowers, and their dining table. Ryan’s thankful for it; Ning knows how he feels about super fancy places. “Like, I know we have a kid together, share ownership of a house, and are married, and not even two weeks after you came back, you _literally_ told me you were in love with me—”

“—and you knew how to prank me at our wedding even before _I_ bring it up, and you say _I_ am the—”

“Listen, I didn’t bring it up for you to drag me. I _know_.” Ryan pours himself tea. “I _know_ you love me and you’re here to stay, but every time we did one of those things, like sign the marriage license and everything else, I was like, ‘Good. That’s proof he’s not going to skip out on me.’”

“Ryan, if you think I do all this just to ditch you,” Ning says patiently as he picks a piece of duck up with his chopsticks, “you and I have been experiencing past few years _very_ differently.”

“I know, I know! And it’s not on you, like. We have a _kid_ together. We were sharing an apartment before the house. We started the Rainbow Fortune House together. We don’t have a car because I can’t drive and I don’t trust you, considering how you were driving in Beijing the first time we went—”

“Ryan, just because you are gay and can’t drive does not mean universal experience,” Ning argues, laughing before he’s even halfway through.

“Baby, for the last time, what you were doing was _not driving_. It was straight up—” Ryan dissolves into laughter, too, before collecting himself. “My point is, we’re going to get a _dog._ Not right now, but Joey’s going to wear us down sooner or later. A dog Joey wants to name Lion.”

“A dog Joey wants to name after _you._ ”

“After what _you_ call me.”

Ning shrugs, leaning back against his chair. “Just means Joey is observant.” He wipes his mouth with a napkin before picking Ryan’s hand up and pressing a kiss to the back of it, eyes on him the whole time. “Means Joey smarter than you, knows I love their 爹哋 as much as they do.” _[“Dad” in Cantonese]_

“I know, I’m just being ridiculous.” Ryan bites into some pork belly, the flavor exploding on his tongue. “I was questioning how you really felt about me up until you kissed me, and then, suddenly, we were together. I still wake up wondering if it was all just a dream.”

“If it is, then we are having the same dream.” Ning smiles. They eat in silence for a few minutes, still holding hands because Ning refuses to relinquish him.

Then the waiter comes by with more food, and they pass the rest of the dinner quizzing each other on the Mandarin and Cantonese names of all the dishes.

After dinner, they still have some time before they need to pick up Joey from Lakey’s, so they pass the time by walking along the Hudson River, holding hands. The sun’s almost done setting now, the sky a tranquil pink-purple.

“You know,” Ning observes, “if you add our time together when we first met to our seven years together now, means we have been together longer than apart.”

They stop in the middle of the path, moving to the side just as a jogger passes them. The waves are quiet, gaps in the noise of the city behind them. Ning’s smiling, and so is he.

Ryan touches the back of his right ear, tracing the tip of a wing. “I think,” he says slowly, “this butterfly is tired of being alone. How about you?”

Ning tiptoes to press a kiss against it. “I’ll call and tell Lakey we’ll be a little late,” he replies, eyes shining.

—

_one year later_

With one last poke at the steamed crucian carp with some chopsticks, Joey proclaims it done from Ning’s arms.

“How we sure _really_ done, hm?” Ning asks as he sets them down. “Should we taste?”

Tiny but robust, Joey looks back, raising their eyebrows and crossing their arms across their chest. At age three, Joey is the spitting image of Ning, which has delighted Ryan to no end. Paired with those raised, disbelieving eyebrows, which is _such_ a Ryan expression, Joey is absolutely _adorable._ “If we taste now, no dinner later.”

“That sure it tastes good, huh? If you so sure, maybe only I taste, then,” Ning muses nonchalantly. He opens the cupboard for a dish. Once he’s retrieved the plate and closed the cupboard door, he’s met with Joey biting their lip. Taking pity on them, Ning takes the chopsticks from them and carefully carves out a small piece of the fish, free hand under the fish to keep the soy sauce from dripping on the floor. He crouches down to Joey’s level. “Open.”

A wide grin quickly overtakes Joey’s mouth before they obey. “Yum! See? It’s good.” They press a soy sauce-y kiss to his cheek. “Thanks, Bàba (爸爸)!” _[“Dad” in Mandarin]_

“You were right,” Ning concedes. “Time to call Dehdi (爹哋) to dinner. You remember what we have to do, right?” _[“Dad” in Cantonese]_

Joey rolls their eyes. “Yes. Be quiet because the baby is sleeping.” With a deep breath, Joey takes their dark green headband out of their chin-length hair and puts it back in grimly. “Okay, let’s go.”

Ning doesn’t even get the wok lid completely over the fish before Joey’s pulling him by the hand to Leslie’s nursery. As expected, when they arrive, Ryan is hovering over Joey’s old bassinet.

With an exaggerated sigh, Joey tugs at Ning’s sleeve. “Why is Dehdi Like That?”

They both look over at Ryan, who is intently studying Leslie, and Ning knows Ryan is cataloguing the parts of Leslie that are from him. Given how he was with Joey himself, Ning knows it’s going to take a while for Ryan to come back to the real world.

Ning will definitely tease Ryan about it later, but he’s a hypocrite; he’s been on the lookout for Leslie’s similarities to Ryan, too. Ning was the one to lose his breath over Leslie having Ryan’s nose and ears upon laying his eyes on Leslie for the first time, after all.

Three years, they’ve had Joey. Three years of watching Joey grow from the colicky, shy, pudgy baby they brought home from the hospital to the still pudgy, always active toddler who wakes up every day acutely aware of how little playtime they have before Bàba and Dehdi call them for naptime (or worse, bedtime). And now, they get to continue doing that with a new addition to their family.

How did he get so lucky?

“You remember, Superman has superpowers? But one thing can make him weak?” Ning asks, belatedly realizing he left Joey hanging.

They nod. “It’s green,” Joey says matter-of-factly.

“Yes, green.” Ning picks Joey up. Joey smells like the garlic and cilantro they were using to season the fish, and their weight is warm and soft against him. “Well, for 爹哋, his green thing is babies. Like you!”

“I’m not a baby!” Joey squeals in typical fashion, when Ning starts tickling them.

That jolts Ryan out of his reverie. “Yes, you are!” he says, joining in, and Leslie continues sleeping through it all.

—

_two years later_

“Haa,” Ryan says as he plops two cooked shrimp each on Joey’s and Leslie’s plates. “Say it with me: haa.” _[Cantonese for “shrimp”]_

“Haa,” Joey repeats, swishing their little ponytail around. They draw the vowel out as they spear the shrimp with their fork and dip it in soy sauce carefully, the way only a five-year-old in a contest for their parents’ praise unbeknownst to their two-year-old sibling can.

“Ho yeh (好嘢)!” Dad exclaims, clapping his hands. _[“Great!” or “Attaboy/girl!” in Cantonese]_

Eager to join in on the party, Leslie shouts “Ha!” as they drop the shrimp in soy sauce. It splatters everywhere. Ryan is suddenly thankful his parents instilled the habit of covering the table with newspaper whenever they have hotpot in him.

Based off Mom’s long-suffering smile, she is glad, too. “Haa,” she says patiently to Leslie, as she wipes soy sauce off their right cheek. Ryan doesn’t know why she bothers; it’ll be making its way back to Leslie’s face soon enough. She says it again, drawing out the vowel until it’s more tonal melody than word.

Leslie repeats after her obediently. They bop their head, their tiny tuft of hair bobbing like cattails in the wind, clipped into place with a tiny butterfly clip because they had insisted on having something in their hair, just like Joey. Then they drag out the vowel, turning the word into a little ditty on its own.

Not to be outdone, Joey starts singing, too, the tune eventually morphing into an inspired rendition of _I’ll Make A Man Out Of You._

Ning joins in as he comes out of the kitchen, carrying more food. He and Ryan share a kiss as he sets the plate of freshly washed and cut ingredients down on the table.

“Sorry we started eating without you, honey.” Ryan peels another shrimp and drops it into the pot of boiling water. “The kids got hungry.”

Ning takes his seat between Joey and Leslie. “That’s fine. At least they like shrimp, that’s how I know they’re mine.”

“Uh, they also like pumpkin, which is how I know they’re _mine._ ”

Ning shakes his head, laughing like Ryan knew he would. “I think we n—”

Joey pulls on Ning’s arm, drawing his attention away. “Bàba (爸爸).” They hold out a shrimp speared on their fork, soy sauce threatening to drip. “Chī ba (吃吧).” _[“Dad” and “Eat” in Mandarin]_

Ning eats it off the fork before the soy sauce hits the floor. “Thank you, bǎobèi.”

Leslie tugs at Ryan’s sleeve with a sticky hand. “Dad.” He’s then presented with shrimp speared on a fork so forcefully that the soy sauce ends up all over his shirt.

Huh. Maybe Leslie _does_ know about the contest, after all.

“Thank you, baby.” Ryan smiles at them before addressing both Joey and Leslie. “What, none for your Mama and Yehyeh, too?”

“You didn’t cook more yet, Dad!” Joey points out. “How can we?”

“How?” Leslie agrees, before chanting, “Haa! Haa!”

Joey joins in, and then they simultaneously realize the shrimp _Haa_ is the same as the laughter _Ha_ and start actually laughing, rivalry put away for now.

As Ryan and Ning drop more food into the pot, Mom and Dad take the cooked food out, place it on a plate to cool, and cut it into smaller pieces with scissors. The four of them work like a well-oiled machine, even though this is their only first Lunar New Year having hotpot with both kids, their third time doing hotpot since having kids overall.

As Mom and Ning take turns getting Joey and Leslie to try the fish (“They don’t like fish? Definitely yours,” Ning says, shaking his head, but he’s smiling; “I mean, this fish wasn’t cooked in a wok,” Ryan fires back with a smile of his own), Ryan is hit hard with memories of being a young child eagerly watching the water boil as he held onto his gold net ladle of beef slices, of enacting their own version of _Stone Soup_ in their cozy kitchen on a cold winter day, of pointing at the different ingredients spread out on the table and rattling off the Cantonese with pride.

Of Mom teaching him how to tell when something was cooked, of Dad heaping more beef slices onto his plate, of Mama trying to sneak mushrooms into his food, of him impatiently correcting them when they pronounced the English in their accents.

Of Ryan losing interest and all taste for Chinese food as he grew older, until hotpot was nothing but a fond childhood memory that stung if he spent too long thinking about it.

It doesn’t escape his notice that his parents smile all evening, which makes him feel both pleased and kind of guilty, and the feeling sticks with him all through dinner. Not souring the evening per se, but certainly coloring it.

After everyone has eaten their fill, Ryan and Ning help Joey and Leslie into their winter armor.

“It’s snowing,” Ning observes, looking out the window. “Want to play outside for a little while?”

“Please!” Joey begs, clamoring for the door already. Still trapped in Ryan’s clutches as he laces up their boots, Leslie starts squirming and making things in general more difficult.

Ning scoops them up. “Wait one minute, Joey. Do you and Leslie want to tell Mama and Yehyeh something?”

“Gong hay fot choy!” they both exclaim. Mom and Dad present them with red envelopes, which they pocket hurriedly.

“Wait, what about the other thing? The one about the fish?” Ryan prompts. “The one we practiced a bajillion times, hm?”

“Nián nián yǒuyú!” Joey shouts impatiently. “Can we go now?” _[“May you always have surplus!” in Mandarin]_

“Neen neen yauyu,” Ning corrects them, but they don’t pay him any mind.

“Sorry, Joey has my impatience,” Ryan says to Mom and Dad apologetically. “We tried to teach them how to say it in both, but I think they forgot.”

“So smart already,” Mom dismisses, fondly smiling at Joey and Leslie jumping up and down by the front door.

Ryan turns to Ning, who’s suiting up as fast as he can. “How about you play with them in the snow for a little bit first? I’ll join after I help Mom and Dad with the dishes.”

“Okay.” Ning gives him a peck on the cheek, before Joey and Leslie race back to him and start tugging on his sleeves. “Okay, okay! Zǒu ba (走吧)!” _[“Let’s go!” in Mandarin]_

With that, Joey and Leslie run out to the front yard their houses share, Ning close behind.

Ryan redirects his attention to the dirty dishes and helps Mom and Dad store the leftovers.

“Joey and Leslie so much like you when you little,” Dad notes. “Talk a lot, hate fish, mushroom. At least like shrimp, love pumpkin.”

“That’s just good taste,” Ryan protests. Then he lets out a sigh. “They also know Chinese. Like I used to.”

Mom swats Ryan’s behind with a dish towel. “What we say about that?”

“I know, I know!” He sighs again, admitting, “I’m just jealous of my kids.”

“You don’t think we feel, too?” Mom asks. “English so good, better childhood?”

“Well, I mean… But you guys looked so happy when they were speaking Chinese.”

“Because like you when little. So smart, good memory, show they listen to you.” Dad rolls his eyes. “Not because they know Chinese.”

“You like that now, still.” Mom pauses. “Except listen to us part. Ryan, you know you not need to know more Chinese to make us happy?”

“Yes?” When Mom swats at him again, Ryan yelps, “Okay! Yes, yes, I know!”

“And kids not need to know Chinese for us to be happy, too?”

“Well, yeah, about that.” Ryan brings the big pot they cooked everything in to the sink and starts scrubbing it. “It’s mostly, like, I want them to know Chinese. Not because it’d make you happy—though I know it will—but because I want them to have that connection that I didn’t want before. I regret not learning earlier since it’s harder to now, but I’m afraid of them hating it if I force them to, at this age. But if they don’t start learning early, it’s harder to pick it up later, you know?”

“So what you ask?” Dad leans against the counter next to the sink, looking confused. Ryan can’t blame him; he’s confused himself.

“Do you guys have any advice for that? Like about how to get them into learning Chinese without them hating us?” Ryan rinses the pot, eyes focused on the water as it goes down the drain. “Just to be clear, I’m not blaming you for how I turned out—”

“Ryan, we know we not help,” Dad says gently, hand on his arm.

“They learn Chinese now,” Mom points out. “From all of us.”

“But for reading and writing, though. And I know Chinese classes would teach Mandarin, not Cantonese.”

“What does Ning think?” Mom asks.

“He wants to leave it up to me because he says I’m the one who knows what it’s like to grow up here. One of my concerns is that they might get bullied for knowing Chinese—but that could happen even if they didn’t. And another is that I don’t want to exert too much pressure on them about it, to the point of driving them away. I mean. Not that you did that,” Ryan adds hastily.

“But we did.” Mom shakes her head at herself.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Ryan says honestly. “I forgave you a long time ago.”

It’s her turn to sigh now. “We still make a mistake like that.”

“I get it now, though. I really do,” Ryan says, and he does. “That’s why I want them to start early. But I don’t know how to do that, which is why I’m asking you guys for advice.”

“But we not know, too,” Mom protests. “Look how we…” She looks down, wringing her hands. “No, we not know how.”

“But _you_ do,” Dad says to Ryan. “You learn so much.”

“ _Me?_ No, I… I really don’t.”

“Ryan, what all these years you do? Always help cook, follow traditions.” Mom passes Ryan a small pile of dirty dishes. “Ryan, you ready.”

“What? Ready for what?”

“Decide how. Ning right, you know growing up here best. You know what you like and not like about how to connect,” Dad points out.

“I mean, I still feel like I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Nobody know. For anything. But you live this, you have different view,” Mom says. “Also, one mistake we do with you, we never ask you what you want, just think we know best. So you can always ask. See how they feel.”

“How you grow up, how they feel, together I know you and Ning will figure out.” Dad pats him on the back. “Don’t need ask us how to do, okay? You and Ning ready.”

“That’s… a really good idea, actually.” Ryan sticks a plate into the dishwasher to dry. “And I may not need you there, but…” He clears his throat, face heating up. “I _want_ you to be. I love you, Mom and Dad.”

Mom and Dad don’t say anything, but their soft smiles are everything, and Ryan almost doesn’t mind not using the dishwasher for its intended purpose.

—

_four years later_

Ryan has been a parent to trilingual Chinese American kids whose Chinese proficiency exceeds his own several times over for almost a whole decade by now, so he’s gotten quite adept at coping with his envy at their ease with embracing Chinese culture.

He still takes more than a little pleasure (and pride) in watching Joey and Leslie’s Toisanese jzong turn out looking more like the flat bricks _he_ makes than the twisted tetrahedral things Mom, Dad, and Ning can do, though.

Joey and Leslie prefer the sweet Beijing zòngzi to the savory Toisanese jzong (as does Ryan, but he’s never going to tell his parents that), so Mom and Dad leave those for them, taking home the jzong that’ll be their dinner for the next week.

After dinner is eaten, leftover ingredients and food packed away, and Mom and Dad escorted back to their house by Joey and Leslie, Ning takes over washing the dishes, while Ryan finally frees Lion from where she’s been holed up in Joey and Leslie’s room for the past few hours.

Lion sniffs the table in the living room, where the ingredients had been set up for their family jzong-making session, whining when she can’t find any leftovers. Then she goes over to the screen door leading to the backyard, to where Joey and Leslie are playing.

Or at least, Joey is. They’re jumping rope, while Leslie watches a few feet away, begging Joey to let them join in, but Joey pretends not to hear. Leslie hasn’t yet gotten the hang of continuing to turn the rope in order to keep jumping after the first jump, so if Leslie is to join in, Joey would have to tie the rope to the trunk of their tree and turn the rope and _stand still,_ which is an absolutely unacceptable outcome for someone who’s been in constant motion since they were born.

Ryan slides open the screen door and steps out to the back porch from the living room, letting Lion out and picking up a discarded tennis ball. With a bark, Lion bounds off the porch as soon as Ryan tosses it. “Leslie, why don’t you play with Fufu?”

“Okay!” they exclaim, running after Lion. In predictable fashion, Joey abandons their jump rope and chases after Leslie.

“Put away the rope first, please!” Ryan shouts after Joey, who begrudgingly goes back and tosses the rope at the porch. He’ll take it.

He plops down on their porch swing, watching their six-month-old Golden Chow puppy look around in confusion when Joey only mimes throwing the ball.

Ning joins him shortly after, opening and closing the screen door with quiet clicks. He flicks water at Ryan from his hands, making Ryan yelp.

“Why are you so committed to messing up my hair?” Ryan asks grouchily, even as he makes room for him. He grabs Ning’s arm and wipes Ning’s hand on his shirt before allowing Ning to put his arm around him.

Ning tucks Ryan’s hair behind his ear and kisses his tattoo, rocking the porch swing gently. “You looked hot. In more ways than one,” he grins.

Ryan rolls his eyes. “I see what your long game is now. You spent all those years playing smooth to win me over, but now that you have me, you think you can just get lazy about it.”

“ _Or,_ maybe I think almost summer and getting hot and Ryan, wǒ qīn'ài de (我亲爱的), might want to tie his hair up, since it’s so long now.” Ning extends an arm, which is when Ryan sees he has a pink hair tie around his wrist. “You want help?”

“Oh.” Chastened, Ryan turns his back to Ning, shivers running down his spine as Ning’s warm hands glide through his hair and deftly tie it up into a ponytail. “Thanks, baby. And ‘wǒ qīn'ài de’? That’s new. All I know is that it’s got something to do with love.”

“My dear, my darling, my beloved,” Ning clarifies. “Whatever you want to be, I’m not picky.” He pulls Ryan closer to him, until he’s almost in his lap. “As long as you’re still mine.”

“ _There’s_ that smoothness,” Ryan murmurs, resting his head back on Ning’s shoulder as they watch Joey and Leslie move on to playing tug-of-war with Lion.

Ning sighs and clasps their hands together. “I want to tell you something.”

“Yeah?”

“I _had_ heard about Duānwǔ Jié as the Gay Valentine’s Day,” Ning says quietly. “I’m sorry I didn’t say so before.” _[“Dragon Boat/Duanwu Festival” in Mandarin]_

“That’s okay.” Ryan picks up his head to look at Ning’s face, whose eyes are on the kids. Lion was too enthusiastic about yanking the rope, causing Leslie to fall on the grass. They both scramble to get up, but Lion has already dropped the rope and bounded over to them, while Joey has already started to help Leslie up.

After Joey and Leslie give them a thumbs-up, Ryan and Ning both sit back down. He goes back to studying Ning’s face. “This hasn’t been weighing on you, has it?”

“A little.” Ning brings their clasped hands to his lips and kisses the back of Ryan’s. “I learn about it when I was still at Central Academy of Drama.”

“Who told you?” Ryan asks softly.

“A man.” Then he corrects himself, “A boy. We were so young, barely eighteen.”

“Who was he?”

Ning hesitates. “I know you won’t tell and you don’t know him, but I promised I would never…”

“Okay.” Then, “Can you tell me about him?”

“Very funny, very charming. Very good actor. Can interpret any scene ten thousand different ways.” Ning presses a kiss to Ryan’s hair. “At the time, I already knew I was different, but I never dared to tell anyone. But then I met him, and…”

“You fell for him,” Ryan guesses. He feels Ning nod.

“We were first other gay person we know for each other and talking about what little we knew of gay people, the history. And then he told me about Duānwǔ Jié.” _[“Dragon Boat Festival” in Mandarin]_

“As part of the history lesson?”

“As a warning,” Ning corrects. “The original story is one of romance, as some scholars say; what most people know today is a story of patriotism. He told me because he wanted to say… Focus on the acting, the work. Show the world the artistry of China. Not… people like us. And then we… I don’t want to say, but ‘broke up.’”

“Why don’t you want to say you guys broke up?” Ryan asks gently.

“We were never really together,” Ning says quietly. “We never said what we were to each other because we knew there was no hope, no future for us. No use in saying, making us real. Nothing good could come out of us being together.”

“Where’s he now? Do you know?” Ryan detaches himself from Ning’s arms briefly to retrieve a wayward Frisbee, tossing it to Leslie. Lion beats them to it, refusing to relinquish her hold on it. Her tail’s wagging.

Ning pulls him back into his embrace, resting his cheek against Ryan’s shoulder. “He still acts. He got married, but then they divorced. No children.” He laughs, but there’s nothing in the sound. No derision, no regret, no sadness. It’s hollow. “When we got married, he sent me a message through his assistant. ‘Congratulations.’” He shakes his head, his hair tickling Ryan’s neck. “First time we talk in more than twenty years, and that’s all he said.”

“Well,” Ryan says, thinking for a moment before giving him a kiss, “you’re allowed to, okay? To say you broke up. To say he was your boyfriend. Your first love.” He squeezes Ning’s hands in his before softly continuing, “He’s allowed to mean something to you.”

A soft breeze tickles Ryan’s cheek, and the sun is now completely gone, the sky an amalgamation of blues and purples. Having tired Lion out, Joey and Leslie have long ditched the toys and switched to hunting for fireflies, whispering and pointing every time they spot one at a distance, yelping every time they almost crash into one. Lion has since padded her way back to the porch, settling against Ryan’s and Ning’s legs, so they’ve had to stop rocking the porch swing, but Ryan doesn’t mind.

Ning is quiet for so long that Ryan starts coming up with ways to tease him about falling asleep when he suddenly sits up. Ryan shivers a little, now that Ning’s warmth is gone. Only moonlight illuminates Ning’s face, but Ryan can still see his eyes. He knows Ning knows Ryan can see what’s in his gaze, but Ning says it anyway, casually but carefully: “I love you.”

The way Ning says it is a little tune of its own, the cadence familiar in the way it settles in his bones. Ryan breathes out slowly. “I love you, too.”

—

_one year later_

As Ryan carefully pinches the edges of the dumpling skin closed, sealing it with water, he muses aloud, “Back when I was a child, before I stopped eating Chinese food, my absolute favorite thing to eat in the whole world was dumplings. Well, and noodles.”

“You don’t like rice?” Māmā asks. Then she turns to Leslie, whose forehead is furrowed with concentration as they pleat the dumpling, the creases precise and regular. “做得好！比Joey更专注。” _[“Good job! You’re more focused than Joey” in Mandarin]_

“Eh, not really. Even now, if I had the choice, I’d still pick noodles over rice,” Ryan replies, watching Māmā’s hands go through the motions again, even though he’s seen her do it at least a dozen times over the years.

Something about the dumplings she’s making sticks out to him, but what? The pinched creases of the dumplings smoothed out into a crescent-shaped curve, the off-white of the dumpling skin that Māmā makes by hand every time, and the pink and green mash of the pork-chives-cilantro filling are familiar sights by now, but he feels like he’s experiencing déjà vu for some reason.

“You hear that?” Leslie brags, sticking their tongue out at Joey. Joey scowls back. “Nǎinai said I’m doing a good job. And I’m more serious.”

“奶奶,” Joey protests, “但Leslie做了 **这么** 小的饺子。谁会吃呢？” _[“But (Paternal) Grandma, Leslie’s dumplings are_ so _small. Who will eat those?”]_

“ **我** 会!” Leslie glares at them. _[“_ I _will!”]_

“Kids…” Ryan says warningly.

“你馅儿放得太多，很容易撑开,” Māmā says patiently to Joey. She then asks Ryan, “Your parents know your favorites are those?” _[“You put too much filling; (the dumpling) will fall apart easily.”]_

“但我 **喜欢** 大的饺子,” Joey replies, and they all laugh. Joey and Leslie have only seen their Nǎinai and Yéyé about a half-dozen times since Ryan and Ning started bringing them along on their annual trips to Hong Kong and Beijing for family visits, but Ryan can already tell that this is going to be an exchange they’ll be having often. _[“But I_ like _big dumplings!”]_

“If it breaks, it won’t _be_ a dumpling anymore,” Leslie points out.

“I mean, yeah,” Ryan agrees with Māmā, “and then they’d shake their heads, like you’re doing now.”

“Exactly!” Māmā gives Leslie a floury high-five. “Try again, okay Joey? We want cook dumpling, not hamburger patty, yes?”

“Okay,” Joey giggles.

After monitoring the start of Joey’s next attempt at a dumpling, Māmā turns her attention back to Ryan. “I shake head because I think cute.” She dips a finger into the bowl of water next to her, tracing that finger along the outline of the dumpling skin. “You southern Chinese boy and favorite is northern Chinese food.”

“Wait, really?” Ryan asks incredulously. “Hang on. Are you telling me my childhood was a lie? I always thought dumplings were Cantonese! Mom made them all the time when I was little!”

“No, is northern,” Māmā laughs. “You all in one: South and North, also East and West.”

“Am _I_ all in one?” Leslie pipes up.

“You _and_ Joey.” Ryan laughs when Leslie shrieks and pulls away from his floury hand threatening to ruffle their hair. “More so than me, even.”

“Time for soup!” Ning announces, bringing out two bowls of soup from the kitchen, tailed by Bàba. ”And then after, you can show 爷爷和奶奶 our Pride pictures, okay?” _[“Grandpa and Grandma”]_

“My hands are dirty. I guess I can’t have any!” Joey rubs their sticky hands with glee.

Ning kisses Ryan when he passes by. “Don’t worry, Joey, I will help you after I help your Dad.” He stops to admire Ryan’s handiwork. “Looks good. Almost as good as mine.”

Wait.

“Ning,” Ryan says slowly, various loose images from his memories now coming together, “did you make those dumplings yourself? The first day you were back in New York after seven years? Did you actually get a chance to sleep, or were you just wearing those on _purpose?_ ”

Ning looks sheepish. “A little?” At Ryan’s sigh, he protests, “I wanted to impress you!”

“Baby.” Ryan gives him a kiss before Ning tilts a bowl of soup for him to take a sip from. After gulping it down, he admits, “I already was.” He wrinkles his nose when Ning wipes his mouth with a napkin a little more roughly than he’d like. “You want to be _really_ impressed?”

Ning smiles. “Always.”

“Leslie’s seven now.” Ryan pauses, watching as Ning furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “We’ve had both our kids for longer than we were apart.”

Ning’s jaw drops, and then he beams. “And we have been together twice as long as we have been apart.” He recalculates. “Little more than twice.”

Ryan smiles, too. “I love that we can mark time like this now.”

“And we always will,” Ning promises.

—

_another year later_

Somewhere in the background, Joey and Leslie are hanging on Sky’s every word about middle school, jumping to Sky’s defense every time Nora and Reese’s twelve-year-old twins Casey and Riley interject to disagree, but Ryan tunes it out in favor of gawking at Reese.

“Why,” Ryan asks incredulously, “are you asking _me?_ ”

“Because I know you know,” Reese replies impatiently, before turning to the kids, who are arguing about whether there actually is a seventh grade dance. “Children,” she says, her tone now patient and sweet, “remember what I always say about the multitude of possible experiences? It doesn’t have to be like this—”

“—when it can also be like this!” Leslie exclaims as the youngest and only one of the group who hasn’t yet developed self-consciousness, pumping both fists in the air.

“Exactly!” Reese tosses Leslie a yogurt drink and turns back to Ryan. “Well? What’s the nutty mooncake called? Sky _really_ likes it, and I want to get some before our Mid-Autumn Festival potluck starts.”

“But since when do _you_ ask _me_ about this stuff?”

Reese crosses her arms and gives him a look. “Since forever, now? I literally _just_ asked you about the boiled citrus thing when Casey had that cough two weeks ago?”

Ryan sits down, head spinning. He knows Reese is right; somewhere along the way, instead of just him asking her about Chinese things, the asking has become much less lopsided, so—

What does that _say_ about him? That he knows—

“Ryan, please. Bakery’s closing soon.”

“Uh, mmyun yuetbang (五仁月餅), I think?” Ryan guesses weakly. “I don’t know how to write it, though,” he adds hurriedly, but Reese is already tapping on her phone.

“That’s what technology’s for,” Reese says cheerfully, repeating the phrase to her phone. She says it with the same tones he does, and since she’s always been better at Cantonese than he is, he’s pretty sure that means he was right about those. “Yep! Five Nuts mooncake. Thanks, hon.”

“You’re welcome,” Ryan answers absentmindedly, trying to pinpoint when exactly he started _knowing—_

Reese claps her hands. “I’m going to go get some mooncake. Any special requests? Sky, don’t worry, I know what the nutty one is called now, thanks to Ryan.”

“Thank you,” Sky says sweetly, before starting up another argument about seventh grade with Casey. Ryan thinks it’s about the librarian who everyone thinks takes his smoke breaks in the stairwell.

“Can we get the ice cream ones?” Leslie pipes up, looking at Ryan for help because he always knows what Joey and Leslie are referring to, having grown up as a Chinese American kid in a Chinese immigrant household himself. What Leslie’s doing is nothing new, but in light of his realization (“Reese-alizasian,” she would probably say, and then the whole room would groan)—

“The ones we had last year?” Ryan asks, and both they and Joey nod excitedly. He smiles. “Sure.” Then he turns to Reese. “Thank you.”

She looks puzzled. “For what?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing, just… thank you.”

“Well, then, you’re welcome! To gay that forward by going with me to buy everything and then carry all of it to the car for me, that is,” Reese grins.

“Bet you a durian snow skin mooncake someone’s going to say that we make a cute couple?”

“That they’re going to say you’re a beautiful woman and if only your husband was taller.” Reese’s eyes twinkle with mirth. “You’re on.”

—

_two years later_

**< a conversasian (4)**

**12:15 PM**

**cup of joey**  
)))          1”  
[Joey: Dad, help]

 **ry ry ry**  
1”          (((  
[Ryan: Yeah?]

 **cup of joey**  
)))          5”  
[Joey: We don’t know which container’s the sauce you said to use for the noodles, and we don’t know what it says  
Leslie: We tried to use Pleco, but we can’t see it clearly]

[Sent: Photo of a plastic container with a brown, viscous liquid. Two Chinese characters are scrawled on the lid with a black Sharpie, but the thick strokes of the characters are too close together for them to be discerned.]

 **ry ry ry**  
2”          (((  
[Ryan: Uh… did you try Baba?]

 **cup of joey**  
)))          6”  
[Joey: He hasn’t gotten back to us yet.  
Sky: I feel like this is the one? To me it looks like lo jzup?]  
_[Cantonese for “sauce for pouring (onto something)”]_

 **ry ry ry**  
3”          (((  
[Ryan: Then I guess it’s that! Thanks for babysitting, Sky, as always!]

**1:30 PM**

**cup of joey**  
)))          7”  
[Leslie: I feel like it might have been the wrong sauce? Because when we were pouring it into a pot to heat it up, there were some soft-boiled eggs in it?  
Joey: Tasted good, though.]

**5:20 PM**

**齐晓宁**  
)))          3”  
[Ning: Sorry, did not see until now. But uh… you— _(hint of laughter)_ ]

)))          2”  
[Ning: _(breathless, but still laughing)_ Sorry.]

)))          10”  
[Ning: Is not lou1 zap1 (撈汁), is _lou5_ zap1 (鹵汁). As in, _lou5 seoi3 zap1_ (鹵水汁). _(more laughing)_ There are eggs inside to marinate and also I wanted to use this for chicken wings for dinner tonight.]  
_[lou1 zap1 is “(any) sauce for pouring (onto noodles/rice/etc.); lou5 seoi3 zap1 is a specific kind of sauce (“master sauce”)_ _]_

 **cup of joey**  
)))          1”  
[Sky: Oh no]

 **ry ry ry**  
2”           (((  
[Ryan: Oh _lo1_ (撈), you mean]

—

_two years later_

It’s nearing 3 a.m., and only now is the city the quietest it ever gets. A car or two passes by every once in a while, barely audible over Ning showering. Ryan hugs himself as he stares out the window into their backyard. The sky is completely dark, save for the rare airplane or helicopter passing through.

A few minutes later, Ryan hears the shower stop, and Ning steps out of the bathroom. He turns around, smiling at the familiar sight of Ning’s graying hair. Not that he has any ground to stand on—his own long hair started turning gray last year, too. They match.

“I thought you already sleep,” Ning says, as he enters the bedroom and sits down in the computer chair at their desk to moisturize.

“I said I’d wait up.”

“Only until I come home,” Ning points out. Ryan comes over and starts massaging his shoulders, and Ning lets out a sigh. “Feels good.” He leans his head back against Ryan’s now soft belly. The coldness of Ning’s wet hair tickles his skin, but Ryan doesn’t move away. “Didn’t have to stay up.”

“I wanted to.” Ryan drops a kiss in his hair and prods at a particularly tense knot. “How was Seattle?”

Ning wrinkles his nose. “Too much rain. The film festival was nice, a lot of fun.” He gropes behind himself for Ryan’s hand, kissing it after he finds it. “But I missed you too much. I think older I get, even five days without you is too long.”

Ryan clasps that hand with Ning’s and continues massaging his shoulder with the other. “I’m the same way, I think.”

“At least we will be traveling a lot together for near future,” Ning observes, humming thoughtfully. “Many twenty-year anniversary screenings of《他/她的妻子》coming up.” More quietly, “Our own, too.”

“Yeah. It’s been a while, huh?”

Ning snorts. He can’t see it, but he knows Ning’s rolling his eyes. “Sure. A while.”

Then they’re both quiet for a while, Ryan still valiantly trying to work out the kinks in Ning’s back with one hand; once Ning gets ahold of Ryan’s hand(s), he knows he’s not getting it back.

Ryan takes a deep breath before he speaks. “That very first screening of《他/她的妻子》in New York—the very first time it was shown here—the one I went to with you…”

“What about it?”

In lieu of answering, Ryan spins Ning’s chair around to face their bed before getting on it and flicking on the nightstand lamp. He leans against the headboard, legs spread wide, and taps the space in front of him. “Come sit.”

Ning turns off the desk lamp and makes his way to the bed, gingerly crawling to Ryan before sitting cross-legged between Ryan’s legs. “Now what?”

Ryan grabs Ning’s hands, bringing their hands closer to himself to kiss the back of Ning’s. “I wanted to tell you a fantasy of my own about that night.”

Ning grins widely. Ryan does, too. “Yeah?”

“First, let me start off by saying I had pretty much made up my mind about you since—since before dimsum with my parents. Not _much_ before then, but—but I knew I couldn’t let this second chance to be with you again pass up. Second, I decided to do something about it after the screening—that’s why I invited you over.” Ryan kisses Ning’s hand again, bracketing his legs around Ning as much as he can. “I had no idea you were planning to say all that you did at the screening.”

“I didn’t, either,” Ning admits.

“Really? You didn’t go, ‘Oh, this would be the perfect time to drop yet another grand romantic gesture on Ryan and see if he’ll _finally_ notice’?”

“Why bother when I already know you won’t _let_ yourself see,” Ning jokes back. “But no, really. James only tell me about the photo right before screening start—before he told me about that new photo of us, I thought maybe small chance someone will ask about the old photo because it’s New York, where first photo and press conference happened, and because someone recognize your name after hearing who I hired to style me again. But _after_ I hear about the second photo, I know for sure they will compare the two photos and how I react, connect to my role in《他/她的妻子》and how I fight to play Anhai… and everything else.” It’s his turn to kiss the back of Ryan’s hand. “I don’t blame them.”

“Really? If it had been me… I get where you’re coming from, but at the same time… I just hated them bringing up such old stuff on you, when you’d more than made it up for it, in my opinion—especially when so few white guys are taken to task about stuff they did _much_ more recently.”

“I know some of my fans needed to hear me say so myself. I should not have taken so long. I know many people look up to me—and I wanted them to know,” Ning says quietly. “What I said and did in the past, shows I do wrong things and don’t care about consequences. I needed to say something and own up to mistakes, apologize. To let my fans, especially gay fans, know I do not act out their stories just for money and fame.”

“Yeah, I know. It was just… really hard to watch. But I also had the privilege of you showing me through your actions that you had really changed,” he concedes. “Still, you remember a few years ago, when there was another reporter who was hounding you about it again after we got married, trying to get you to admit—I don’t even know. Your own hypocrisy in saying gay people were abnormal while being gay yourself? I think he didn’t deserve your response to _that._ ”

“Keep saying you were going through some difficulties, they keep asking you what. Finally tell them self-hatred, they suddenly accuse you of making them the bad guy,” Ning agrees.

“You’re a public figure, but you don’t owe them shit,” Ryan says softly.

With a smile, he taps Ryan’s nose. “This is where you and I grow up differently. You grow up influenced by society that values individual, own happiness, own needs. I grow up always thinking about others—taking care of others is my lifelong responsibility and duty, obligation that comes with being public figure, which is why I did feel was necessary to say something, both at screening and to that reporter.” He pauses. “This probably why Joey and Leslie find own happiness in taking care of others.”

“Probably,” Ryan agrees. “Leslie was always a helper, but Joey… Joey tripped over Lion the other day in their haste to get to the kitchen and help with dinner. But they’re trying.”

There’s a gleam in Ning’s eye. “Because Joey knows you and Leslie will cook with cheese when I’m not home.”

Ryan cracks up. “How did Joey end up with the cheese obsession when they’re _your_ kid?”

“Because they’re _ours._ ” Ning laughs with him, the sound as soft as the creaks of their settling house. Ning swings their hands back and forth between them. “You never told me your fantasy,” he murmurs.

“Oh yeah.” Ryan pulls his hands away and stretches. “You still want to hear it? Or are you tired?”

Ning waves him off. “I slept on the plane. How about you?”

“I’m good. I napped earlier so that I could be awake when you came home,” Ryan says. “I’m just glad the Gab Five are having their sleepover at Reese and Nora’s. I don’t think I could’ve handled them tonight.”

“Me, too.” Ning cups his face and uncrosses his legs, leaning forward to kiss him. “Tell me. What did you want happen that night?”

“Well, as soon as we got back to my place, I was going to break out the champagne and ice cream—jasmine tea-flavored, if you were curious. Then I was going to play some music and make you dance with me, or just let you pull me in if I wasn’t feeling brave enough yet.” Ryan watches Ning stretch out his legs before he plops down next to him, his body curled toward Ryan’s. He sighs quietly as Ning starts kissing his neck.

Another kiss, and then a nip at Ryan’s throat. “And then?”

“Uh, I thought—I thought we were going to dance for a really long time,” Ryan continues distractedly as Ning unbuttons the top two buttons of his pajama top. He really hates that he can’t just sleep shirtless in the winter, even with Ning radiating heat like a furnace beside him. “I was going to show you my favorite songs and then ask you about yours, and we’d just keep dancing. I had a playlist and everything, and the last few songs would all be nice and slow.”

“Show me.” Then, “Wait. You set up while I go get.” With that, Ning leaves the bed, puts on his slippers, and rushes out of their room.

“Get what?” Ryan calls after him in a hushed voice, despite the kids not being home. When he gets no answer, he shakes his head good-naturedly and thumbs open his phone for the playlist, which he still listens to on the rare late night at work. He selects the last song on the list, which—in retrospect, hadn’t been subtle at all.

Ning comes back soon after, holding two red porcelain bowls and spoons. He used to think the design was garish, but now he just feels proud that he recognizes the characters on them. “Careful,” he warns, as he hands Ryan one of the bowls.

Ryan laughs, taking it from him anyway. “Baby, it’s—it’s four in the morning, and you want champagne and ice cream _now?_ ”

“Only once,” Ning protests, laughing with him as he lifts his soup spoon and brings it to his mouth. As he swallows, he returns to the bed and leans against the headboard on Ryan’s right, using his knees as a table. “Non-alcoholic and red bean ice cream, not jasmine tea.” When Ryan doesn’t move, Ning jokes, “I thought you say you not worry about carbs or sugar anymore because you already have me.”

“I was going to say I never said anything about sugar, but the old me would have also said that carbs _are_ sugar.” Ryan tries a spoonful. “This isn’t half bad. Not as good as the combo I actually taste-tested dozens to get right, but not bad for what we have on hand. You didn’t have to do this, you know. I was completely fine with just telling you how the rest of it went before getting to the sex.”

Ning snorts. “You are so American, always think ‘me me me.’ What about _me?_ What if I want romance?”

Ryan rolls his eyes, smiling. “ _Sorry,_ lo gong.” _[“Husband” in Cantonese]_

The song ends shortly before they finish the champagne and ice cream; despite his jokes, Ning hadn’t put a lot of either in their bowls, mindful of the season and time of day.

Ryan rests his soup spoon against the bowl with a soft, musical clink and leaves the bed, extending a hand to Ning. “Dance with me?”

Ning places his bowl next to Ryan’s on the nightstand. “But there’s no music.”

“You telling me you can’t dance without music, when I have a hard time believing you can _with?_ ” Ryan teases.

“ _Hey_ ,” Ning protests, but he’s laughing.

Ryan crooks his fingers. “Come on. Trust me?”

“Always.” Ning takes his hand and slowly gets up, letting himself be guided past the foot of the bed.

Ryan places a hand on Ning’s shoulder and clasps his other hand to Ning’s, before having Ning rest his free hand on Ryan’s side. Then he takes a slow step backward, and Ning catches on quickly, stepping forward again when Ryan repeats the step with his other foot.

Ryan leads him into a rusty foxtrot, the memory of the dance instructor chanting _quick-quick-slow_ over the music at the forefront of his mind. Ning bends his head down, focusing on not stepping on Ryan’s feet, and they dance in easy silence for half a minute as Ryan gathers his thoughts.

“When I was in elementary school, there was this program that would teach you ballroom dancing in fourth and fifth grade,” Ryan begins, as they glide across the floorboards in their slippers. “My class always had more boys than girls, so the last few boys were always paired up with each other—and we were always paired up according to size order, so.”

“You the tallest even when you were little?”

“You’ve seen my baby pictures, so you know the answer to that,” Ryan laughs. “Because I was always paired up with a boy, I ended up learning both the boy and girl parts, and fourth grade was fine—my best friend Jimmy Zheng was always my partner, and we would take turns dancing both parts.” He sighs, shaking his head. “Then everyone noticed I was looking at him too long one day, and well. Fifth grade, ballroom wasn’t fun anymore. It just so happened that year my class had an odd number of kids, so I would just pretend to have cramps or something until my fifth grade teacher made me her partner permanently.”

They stop dancing and stand in place. “I hate what he and the other kids did to you.”

“They were just kids. They didn’t know what they were doing.”

Ning holds him tight, wrapping his arms around him. He kisses Ryan’s closed eyelids, kissing him a second time right over the eye that had black-and-blued after they beat him up. “Just because they young doesn’t mean they can’t think for themselves.” Ning sighs again, and Ryan opens his eyes to find him trembling with anger, eyes damp. “And they thought wrong.”

Ryan wipes away a tear from Ning’s eye with his thumb. “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Ning catches Ryan’s hand before it falls to his side and presses it to his cheek. “No, _I’m_ sorry. I didn’t mean to derail what you say.”

“You’re fine. I just brought it up because I was going to tell you I was missing you while you were away, so I was watching《他/她的妻子》again—”

“How many times you see it now?” Ning rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Two hundred times? Three hundred? A thousand?”

“ _Hey,_ ” Ryan protests, poking him in the chest. “It is entirely too early in the morning for you to be dragging me.” He swallows. “Anyway, I was actually able to stay for the whole thing this time. First time I’ve been able to sit through the, you know.”

Ning looks at him worriedly. “Not because you think I would be happy you watch that part, right?” He grabs Ryan’s other hand and runs a thumb across the back of it. “I don’t want you to trigger self just because.”

“No, no,” Ryan assures him. “I just decided I’d try it out, shut it off if I couldn’t deal with it. I didn’t watch it straight through—I had to take a few breaks to collect myself, but it went fine.” He exhales. “I think… I think it means the stuff with Jimmy has been hurting less. Like, talking to you and close friends about it has been helping. Writing about it and throwing it away after has been helping. Therapy has been helping. So after I talked to Jason about it, I decided to give it a try.”

“I am happy for you.” Ning kisses him gently. “I thought you look different when I come home, wasn’t sure why. But now I see—you look lighter.”

“I _feel_ lighter,” Ryan says honestly. “I feel like this is just going to be one of those things, but it’s been getting easier to manage.” He shakes his head. “It’s been almost fifty years since it happened, Ning. _Fifty._ Even though it happens rarely now, I still feel so powerless and scared when something triggers me.”

“And you work so hard to heal from it for just as long,” Ning points out gently.

“It’s just wild to me that I sometimes wonder what his life has been like through the years, when I doubt I was a blip on his or the other kids’ radars after we all went to different middle schools.” He pauses. “Well, I’m pretty sure they’ve thought of me once or twice by now, especially when we got married. But sometimes I just… Them beating me up was lifetime trauma for me, but for them… is it just a fond childhood memory? Or did they forget they even did that to me?” Ryan asks, voice cracking. Almost immediately, he starts mentally berating himself for overestimating just how much healing he’s been able to do over the years, but then, just as immediately, a voice he suspects is modeled after his therapist Jason starts berating _that_ voice for not considering relapses as being part of the healing process.

“Oh, bǎobèi.” Ning holds him tight and lets him sniffle into his pajama top. “I hate them,” he says vehemently. “I hate what they did to you. I hate—I hate how they make you feel.”

“I think I’m just still feeling a little shaken from watching it. Maybe I wasn’t as ready to see it as I thought,” Ryan admits. He wipes at his eyes, laughing wetly when Ning knocks his hands out of the way to do it himself. “Sorry I keep getting distracted. Can I go back to telling you about my fantasy?” He yawns, covering his mouth. “Ugh. I meant to seduce you, but all these feelings are making me sleepy.”

“So finish telling me now, and we get back to the other stuff later,” Ning replies, kissing him tenderly.

“Okay, fine. But before I forget, this is a personal request that you have your way with me when we wake up.” Ryan grabs Ning’s hands and puts them on his waist as he puts his arms on Ning’s shoulders, and they sway across the floor again. “Where was I?”

“Champagne and ice cream, then dancing?”

“Oh, right. So after we got tired of dancing or the playlist ended, we were going to sit on the couch and talk about the screening. Best and Worst Dressed, Funniest Q-and-A Moment, Most Annoying Attendee, you name it. And then…”

“And then?” Ning echoes softly, kissing his neck.

Ryan tilts his head for better access. “And then,” he repeats, voice trembling, “I was going to ask if you still wanted anything like before with me again. And if you didn’t, if you’d perhaps consider letting me kiss you one more time.” He pauses. “Or maybe I was just going to beg you to let me. I figured I’d be at least tipsy by the end of it, so I was trying to account for the possibility that I’d end up doing that.”

Ning kisses him, sweet and slow. Ryan runs his hands up and down Ning’s back, his top loose enough for him to slip his hands under. Ning flinches at Ryan’s cold fingers, but leans into his touch soon after. “If I could still do, I would carry you to bed right now.”

“ _I_ could. Probably. You just won’t let me.”

“Ryan,” Ning says, ever patient, “if you carry me when I turn sixty this year, my bones will break because you are also getting older. And then I will fall on you and crush you and kill you.”

“Again with the killing.” Ryan laughs, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, that was my fantasy, but I think what actually happened was _much_ better.” He bites his lip. “I still think about it.”

“Me, too. When I am alone and miss you,” Ning admits. Their eyes flit to each other’s, and Ning glances down to where Ryan’s pressed up against his belly. “You still tired?”

“No,” Ryan murmurs.

“Come to bed,” Ning says, tilting his head toward it invitingly.

Ryan swallows, throat suddenly dry. “Okay.”

—

_a few months later_

It’s a windy day, but it doesn’t seem to have deterred the butterflies in the slightest. When one flies near Leslie, they duck behind Mom, who chides them gently.

Ahead of Mom and Leslie, Ryan pushes Dad’s wheelchair, while Joey and Ning lead the way, carrying the rest of their things. The butterflies have taken a particular liking to Joey, perching on their shoulders.

When they reach Mama and Yehyeh’s resting place, Ning lays out the cardboard for the offerings, Joey runs off to hunt for a stick, and Ryan rips the packaging off the heaven banknotes. Leslie gives Dad a hand as he gets up from the chair and stands in front of his parents’ grave.

Ryan kneels and starts digging a shallow hole for the chrysanthemums. “嫲嫲，爺爺，我哋又嚟探你哋啦!” _[“Mama, Yehyeh, we’ve come to visit you again!” in Cantonese]_

Ning crouches next to him and slings an arm around his shoulders, leaning his weight on him. Ryan nudges back at him in a valiant attempt to keep himself from toppling over. “嫲嫲，爺爺，你哋好嗎？你哋依家肯定好開心啦，你哋依家年年都見到細勇同個老公，細路。佢個爸媽都喺。” _[“Mama and Yehyeh, how are you? You must be so happy now; you now see Sai Yong (Ryan) with a husband and kids. His parents are, too.”]_

“Do you _have_ to say that every time?” Ryan rolls his eyes, grinning. “But yeah, 我哋嚟見你哋。Joey下個星期考個, uh, fifth grade piano exam, 同埋Leslie唔想學拉小提琴啦，想學拉二胡，所以我哋依家搵緊新老師。” _[“We’re here to see you. Joey is taking the fifth grade piano exam next week, and Leslie decided they wanted to play the erhu instead of the violin, so now we’re looking around for a new instructor.”]_

Dad places a hand on Ryan’s shoulder when Ryan gets up. “You not find yet?”

“We’re meeting with someone next week,” Ryan replies, before calling out to Joey. “You find a stick yet?”

“Just got one!” Joey calls back, jogging to them.

Ryan points his chin at the heaven banknotes. “Hold that while I light the fire.”

Joey waits patiently before dropping the lit pile into the metal bucket. “Leslie, give me some more.”

Leslie hands them a new stack of heaven banknotes absentmindedly, their eyes on the engraved characters of the tombstone. “嫲嫲，爺爺，你哋點解嚟咗美國？” _[“Mama, Yehyeh, why did you come to America?” ]_

Ning grabs the folding camping chair they brought and takes it out of its pouch. As he unfolds it for Mom, Mom asks, “大革命聽過未呀？” _[“Have you heard of the Cultural Revolution?”]_

“大革命？” Leslie repeats tentatively. They shake their head.

“Ooh, I have! The Cultural Revolution, right?” Joey continues tossing banknotes into the fire, the stick jammed between their elbow and side threatening to fall. Leslie grabs the stick and starts poking at the fire gingerly, using it to fan out the few piles of banknotes Joey tossed in that were too thick for the nascent fire to win against. “我喺歷史課啱啱學咗。It was a difficult time. A lot of people went hungry.” _[“I just learned about it in history class.”]_

“That’s right.” Mom nods to Ning in thanks before sitting down in the chair. “我從廣州先去咗香港……” _[“I first went from Guangzhou to Hong Kong…”]_

As Mom continues telling her story, Leslie, Joey, and Dad interject occasionally—Leslie to ask about unfamiliar terms, Joey to connect Mom’s experiences to what they’ve been learning in school, Dad to fill in some missing details—while Ning and Ryan hang back, just listening.

Occasionally, Ryan will translate something in English, or one of the kids will ask what the Mandarin equivalent of something is, and Ning will answer. However, for the most part, Ning is quiet, slightly tense, pensive, the more he hears; growing up with the family, wealth, and connections he had, in the time and place he did, he’s more than a few steps removed from Mom and Dad’s experiences. In fact, because Ryan had grown up hearing his parents’ lectures about their hardships that made his own life possible, Ryan might even be more familiar with this subject than Ning.

Ryan takes this opportunity to marvel at his family—Mom’s hair is miraculously still black, and she uses a cane to get around; Dad leans on two canes for support to walk short distances and uses a chair for most of his treks outside, hair as silver as it has been for as much of Ryan’s adult life he can remember; Joey towers over them both by a head, robust and muscular, sporting a ponytail most days, while Leslie is the same height as Dad, long-haired and long-limbed, hair always cropped short.

And Ning. Ryan has had the pleasure of watching Ning’s hair slowly go gray, his belly go soft, his face get more wrinkles. He treasures each development in them both because it’s an ever-present sign that they’re both here to see it happen, though he’ll admit he occasionally despairs that he didn’t inherit Mom’s hair genes.

But then Ning will come over and weave his fingers in Ryan’s hair, coming in for a kiss even as Ryan play-protests the ruination of his hair, pointing out how much they match. Then Ryan will smile at that before remembering Ning has four years on him, which means that’s _bad for Ryan, actually,_ and Ning will freeze with a smile, knowing Ryan has caught him out again. Ryan will tickle him until he’s breathless with laughter and collapses on the bed. With a pull, Ryan will fall on top of him with an _oof._ They’ll both complain about their knees, laugh, and grow quiet, looking into each other’s eyes. The mood will change, and then they’ll be kissing again, losing themselves in each other.

Ryan knows the routine by heart. Its rhythm feels as old as time, even though realistically, it’s probably only been seven years, which he only knows because he was looking at the walls of covers he’s worked—and now, been featured—on again, and the _GAYSIAN AMERICA_ cover he and Ning were on for Fathers’ Day seven years ago was the last time they were photographed while both his and Ning’s hair were still black.

He sighs as he watches some butterflies fly to the chrysanthemums. The sound catches Ning’s attention, and their eyes meet. Ryan laughs, suddenly shy, overwhelmed by just how long it’s been since gray hair for either of them was an anomaly, a rarity, not a fact of life.

Seven years. With every passing day, how long they’ve been together to watch each other age will soon surpass how long they were apart. Just like how long it’s been since that second first kiss they shared when Ning came back, how long they’ve been married, how long they’ve had Joey and Leslie. Lion’s seventh birthday is coming up this year, too, in June.

Tallying up these anniversaries, these milestones, is second nature to them both now, and Ryan knows they’ve still got a lot to look forward to—next month, they’ll celebrate the twentieth anniversary of《他/她的妻子》(and their own relationship) at a special screening, which will kick off the circuit Ning will be making around the world with his old co-stars and director, to celebrate its twenty years everywhere it was first shown, too. Ning’s going to be on the road for a bit over a year, his last stop being the twentieth anniversary of its U.S. limited release in August of next year, but Ryan will fly to him and attend a screening every month, and then he and the kids will join Ning for the summer, so it won’t be too bad.

They’ll spend the entirety of the flight home to the last screening teasing Ryan about how many times he’s seen《他/她的妻子》, since it’s common knowledge that he plays it as background noise while working (upwards of a thousand times by now, but he’ll never say). They’ll sigh in relief to be back in New York’s humid August heat, and when Mid-Autumn Festival comes once again, Ryan will tell Ning a fact he’s been waiting to become true—not only has he been Sky’s godfather for half his life, but now he can also say he’s known Ning for half his life.

Soon enough, far more things will have been around for half his life, and counting—the FashionEASTas, in four years, which is also when Ning will have known Ryan half his life, though it’s a bit bittersweet because Mama will have been gone for that long, too; the existence of《他/她的妻子》, him and Ning being together, and knowing Ning’s parents, a decade later; being Ning’s husband, in another seven; Rainbow Fortune House, in an additional eight; being Dad to his two kids, in another two after all that. They’ve celebrated more holidays and birthdays and anniversaries together than when they were apart. Been in love, shared a home, had a family.

With all that in mind, the seven years they weren’t in each other’s lives pale in comparison.

After all, what’s seven years when they have a lifetime?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little while ago, front cover's official twitter tweeted [this](https://twitter.com/FrontCoverMovie/status/1034402537598799877): "We’d like to think before Hollywood produced @CrazyRichMovie there was our indie produced @FrontCoverMovie" and you know what they're RIGHT! this is the most valid thing they've ever said
> 
> and then [teen vogue](https://www.teenvogue.com/story/asian-american-movies-shows) said this about front cover: "This is also the closest thing we have to a _Crazy Rich Gaysians_." and they're ALSO RIGHT!!!!!!
> 
> oh and and i JUST found this [interview](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hGnKal0S4NA&t=0s&index=22&list=PLqEVxkHx06eZ7ZXB8_-Sax0QfApA7iLDt) that jake choi, elizabeth sung, and james chen did (ryan, ryan's mom, and ning, respectively) about their characters and i'm relieved that what i've done with them touches on what they talk about (oh gosh, when james chen talks about ryan and ning seeing different parts of their identities in each other being lived/experienced with dignity... oh my heart)
> 
> i also now have a [TIMELINE](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/btstimeline) for this fic, if you're interested in seeing every milestone/detail/etc laid out linearly


	9. extras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan moans and buries his face in his hands. “I’m so fucked up, Jan. So fucked up.”
> 
> [and]
> 
> Ning sighs and thinks about Ryan’s mother, how she had taken one look at him and known. _You want to give them hope._
> 
> [and]
> 
> _SPECIAL ISSUE_   
>  _20 YEARS OF GAYSIAN AMERICA_
> 
>  JUNE 2035
> 
> _Love is always in style, Part 2_   
>  _Our conversasian with the FashionEASTas continues, this time with Ryan Manyong Fu-Qi and husband Xiaoning Fu-Qi_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the lateness!!! i underestimated how much i had to do (finish writing ch9, catch up on editing, write ch9 notes, fix chinese translations, fix the increasingly annoying formatting)... anyway happy frigay for the last time!!! this is it folks!!! while i'm sad about it ending, i'm also relieved bc i've been thinking about this nonstop since march. whew! time to finish editing this + figure out the [fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12363711) i was SUPPOSED to be writing before i was predictably derailed
> 
> re: word count, you may have expected this, but i went over 131,452.0 rly quickly so i was like Oh No but then i realized: **143,520** (mando + eng shorthand for 'i love you')
> 
> SO. if you ever come back to this fic + see the word count is that #, you'll know it's been completely edited (or, i finally made myself stop nitpicking). (p.s. if you also revisit the fic notes later, you may find some new ones bc i've added some more thru/o). @me AGAIN. FIRM ON THE WORD COUNT I HAVE NO MORE MEANINGFUL #S SO PLS!!!
> 
> EDIT we are going for 152,043 now (it's a metaphor)
> 
> i just gotta know tho like. how on EARTH did i write 25k notes total (remember when i said it was long at 9k), how is ch9 slightly longer than ch8, and how do ch8+9 make up slightly over 1/2 the word count (~55%)??? and on top of all that, the timeline alone is 3k??? @ me: ?????
> 
> looking back, i sure was naive when i first sent it to my beta. i orig wanted to post it as a one-shot after she edited it, but i kept getting more ideas, to the point where ao3 was like "this exceeded char limits" (which was when i learned ao3 has char limits), and then i had no choice. i was skeevy about that tho bc i hadn't conceived of this in parts. 
> 
> the orig way i broke it up (~3-4k/ch) would've made it 14 chaps, and i didn't like the # (this was before i decided to add ch8+9); i orig planned to do shorter chaps bc pacing-wise, it'd be more slow-burny if ning didn't show up until ch3, right?
> 
> but then i was like, as a reader, i wouldn't be able to wait that long for ning to show up, which was why i did 7 parts instead. 7 was great bc it's the # of yrs they were apart+one of my fave #s. when ch8 came along, i was like, gr8 bc 8 is a lucky # (8 in canto/mando rhymes with 发 [prosperity])
> 
> and now there's a ch9! 9 is also lucky (homophone for 久 [eternity/long-lasting], which is exactly what ryan+ning's love is)! ch9 has no plot. it has snippets not in ch1-8 bc 1) they didn't fit the fic's time frame (i.e., they took place during the 7 yrs ryan + ning were apart), 2) i didn't think of the scenes that take place during the fic until much later, or 3) the scenes were in ning's pov
> 
> ch9 has 3 sections: #1 is ryan's pov, #2 is ning's pov (these 2 sections cover the yrs they were apart + go into the fic's time frame a bit), and finally, #3 is a _GAYSIAN AMERICA_ article (+ a mini extra). like with ch8, everything that happens after 2024 (i.e., when ch8 began) are not what i consider part of the 'canon'/main fic
> 
> \- **warning for ch9: this chapter includes grief re: the off-screen death of ryan's paternal grandma (mama)**
> 
> \- link to masterpost: [here](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/tagged/behind-the-scenes-masterpost)
> 
> \- link to notes: [[collapsible version](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/behindthescenes)] // [[non-collapsible (long) version](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/behindbehindthescenes)] 
> 
> \- link to reblog: [here](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/tagged/behind-the-scenes-9)
> 
> \- link to gaylist: [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLtStoH71eEUsdLEBRosaLNTcCKQ4dlULX) (if i have time, i may hyperlink the songs that go w/ partic scenes in the scene dividers)
> 
> \- the comprehensive [timeline](http://omgcphee.tumblr.com/btstimeline) is now finalized!!!
> 
> quick notes:
> 
> \- i know james (ning's PR) canonically is fluent in mando, but i am not, so for my sake, james and ning converse in english bc i am alrdy having difficulty w/ the other chinese [mostly mando] in this part (this is part of why i wrote mostly in ryan's pov--ning's from beijing and fluent in chinese and i am neither)
> 
> \- this part is def more chinese-heavy than all the other parts bc the 2nd section is all in ning's pov. my friend is helping me with the translating bc i jumble canto and english grammar every time i speak mando; i know i could've just written it all in english, but i wanted the verisimilitude 
> 
> \- i keep forgetting to say this but re: the canto for "i love you" (ngo ngoi neih/leih), i am changing all instances to use the L rather than the N bc i forgot that hong kongers tend to use the L sound rather than the N (i grew up using the N sound at the beginning of words bc my family is mainland canto chinese)

_Ryan_

“You’re drunk,” Janet says bluntly when Ryan tries to get the bartender’s attention again. She shakes her head as she sips the water she switched to three drinks ago with one hand and pulls Ryan’s down with the other.

“I’m drunk!” Ryan confirms cheerfully, full-on holding her hand now. “I’m so drunk!”

“No more for you, babe. We agreed on this.” Janet gives him the rest of her water. “Drink, please.”

He pushes the cup away, scrunching up his face. “But that’s not what I want.”

“You pinky promised.” She guides the glass to his lips. “Come on. Drink it, and I _promise_ I’ll tell Sober Ryan about the tattoo.”

“ _Dry_ an,” he corrects her, giggling uncontrollably.

Janet groans. “Fine. Dryan.”

“Pinky promise?” Ryan sticks out his pinky. Janet looks at his pouting lip, wide eyes, and the brave face he’s been putting on despite being hammered. “And you’ll let me listen to my Songs for the Broken-Hearted?”

“Your _Adele_ -list, you mean?” She sighs, shaking her head, but says anyway, “Pinky promise.” Then she links their pinkies together, and he downs all the water, choking when it all goes down too fast. She rubs his back sympathetically. “Easy, hon, I’ve got you.”

Ryan moans and buries his face in his hands. “I’m so fucked up, Jan. So fucked up.”

She smooths his hair from his forehead. “Right now, yeah, but you’re going to get through this, okay, sweetie? I’m going to be right there with you.”

He picks his head up slightly, voice trembling. His eyes are shining. “And you’ll make me get the tattoo? Make me—make me remember my mistake?”

“Make you remember what it’s like to let yourself open up to other people,” Janet corrects him, taking his hand in hers. “That’s what Dryan wants to learn, remember?”

He looks at her blankly. “I… didn’t understand any of that.”

She pulls him up from his chair so they can go, but then he just collapses again, his head landing on her shoulder this time. She pats his back gently as he lets out another shuddery sigh. “I know, babe. I know.”

—

Ryan has been working for Francesca since he graduated from college, this year being the seventh. As much as he hates to admit it, Ning coming to New York a year ago sparked his—not ambition because he’s always had that, but— _confidence,_ in more than a few different ways. He’s always been annoyed and tired of Francesca pushing all the Asian clients toward him—not that there have ever been that many to begin with—but ever since Ning, he’s found that he has less and less patience for putting up with it.

He turns thirty this year, and while he knows he’s still young, he also knows he doesn’t want to be Francesca’s token Asian stylist forever. But if he’s going to do something about that, he first needs to meet other people, build a network.

Hence why he’s standing just inside the entrance of the bar where an Asian American fashion networking event is being hosted tonight and having second doubts. In the past, he always deliberately distanced himself from other Asians—too aware of everyone else accusing them for being too exclusive and clique-y and like a “rice ball,” of other Asians looking at him in confusion because references to Asian things go over his head, of everyone else assuming he was as Asian, foreign, and _embarrassing_ as them (which is another thing of its own that he needs to unpack). Not to mention all that baggage he still has about Jimmy Zheng and the other neighborhood kids.

However, when he looks closer at the scene around him, he realizes it’s more a speed dating event than anything else; there are a lot of pairs leaning in closer than necessary, _really_ suggestive dancing, and even a few couples making out, which isn’t at all what he expected.

Then again, he hadn’t _known_ what to expect. No expectations means no disappointment, right? He would’ve been happy with whatever turn this night took, whether he met some new people or no one wanted to talk to him at all, but this? This wasn’t in his realm of expectations _at all._

Since it’s turned out to be a huge waste of time, he turns to leave, but then he spots someone sitting across the bar alone, back to him. Midnight blue button-down, bespoke slacks, soft-looking hair he’d love to sink his fingers into and mess up. Quite pretty.

He didn’t go back to white guys after Ning—didn’t go to _anyone,_ period, except for a few drunken makeout sessions on the dance floor a few months ago he doesn’t remember anyway, but maybe tonight’s the night he gets back out there.

After all, it’s been a year. Why not? It’s what the mixer turned out to be for, anyway.

Before he realizes, his feet have taken him over there, and he plops down next to the handsome stranger. “Hey,” he greets the stranger as he tries to get the bartender’s attention, “can I get you something?”

“I could use another Gay-laxy Cocktail,” the stranger replies, and Ryan’s smile grows bigger.

“My kind of guy—” Ryan begins, before he does a double take, just as the stranger does the same and says, “You’re—”

They both shut up, and Ryan’s face feels like it’s on fire. He’s thankful the lighting’s dim, though not _too_ much so, since that got him into this mess in the first place.

“I’m gay!” Ryan exclaims right when the stranger interjects, “I’m a lesbian!”

They stare at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter.

“Oh, thank god,” she mutters. “I thought things were going to get really awkward.”

“As if they aren’t already?” Ryan raises an eyebrow. Now that he’s had a second to look at her, he can see her hair’s been cut _very_ similarly to his, which explains why he had thought what he had thought. He sticks a hand out to her. “Ryan.”

“Reese.” She shakes it and then orders Gay-laxy Cocktails for them both. “Are you also here for the networking event?”

“Yeah.” He looks around again. The dance floor has gained at least half a dozen more people. “Though I’m not sure if it’s actually for networking or hooking up.”

“It _was_ for networking the first few years, but whoever used to organize it left, and the new organizers have made it much less structured,” Reese explains. She cocks her head as she studies him. “I come every year to try to find new gay Asian friends, and I don’t think I’ve seen you at one of these before, but you still look kind of familiar.”

Ryan sips his drink. It’s really good. Sweet, fizzy, and sparkly. “Yeah, I, uh, work for Francesca? You look familiar, too.” He pauses for a moment to figure it out before it hits him. “There was that new-ish magazine, the _GAYSIAN AMERICA_ one—you’re on the front cover of an issue from earlier this year, right?”

“Yeah, that’s me!” Reese hums thoughtfully. “I remember hearing Francesca only had, like, three people of color working there. One Asian.” She laughs at herself. “Not that my place is much better. We have two.”

“Yeah, me,” Ryan snorts. He fiddles with his drink. “I came to this event because of _GAYSIAN AMERICA,_ actually. Sort of. I remember being so excited when I first heard of it, and it got me thinking about how I wanted to do that kind of thing in my own field, you know?”

Reese nods. “Oh, yeah, totally! The person who started it, Lisa Mercado, and I were in the same graduating class, actually. She’s been talking about doing this since forever, and I’m so happy she’s finally doing it!” She slides off the seat with her drink and checks her phone for the time. “She might still be around—want to meet her?”

Ryan gets up, too. “Yeah.” He grins. It’s early yet, and he no longer feels like this was a waste of time. “I’d love to.”

—

It’s a breezy Saturday morning when they meet for brunch. After Reese thanks the waiter, she pushes Ryan’s plate closer to him. “I’m so glad we finally found some time to meet up! You’re a hard guy to pin down, Ryan.”

Ryan stirs his tea with a spoon before resting it on the saucer. He shrugs. “Sorry, I’ve just been really busy lately,” he says, like he hasn’t been being deliberately evasive because he’s afraid she’ll ~~pull a Ning~~ befriend him and then walk right back out of his life after he admits to getting attached. He looks around the trendy teahouse, with its huge windows, hand-carved wooden chairs, and absolutely adorable Studio Ghibli-themed tea sets. “You know, when you said you were going to bring me to an Asian place to drink tea but it wasn’t dimsum, I wasn’t sure what to expect.”

Reese snorts as she munches on her avocado toast, waving his apology away. “I just meant that I’m glad to see you again, that you made time for me, that’s all,” she says, and he has to look away just then, unsure of how to deal with such… emotional frankness, focusing his gaze on his teacup instead. “I figured I’d start off easy with an Asian guy who doesn’t visit his parents, hates carbs, and still proudly displays _POTATO QUEEN_ on his dating profile.” She then sips her own tea. “And anyway, I promised you brunch, didn’t I? Besides, you’re still uncultured enough to think brunch isn’t just American dimsum.”

Ryan rolls his eyes. “It’s too early in the day for you to be dragging me. And about the profile thing, it’s only still there because I haven’t used it in over a year!” He thumbs open his phone. “Look, I’m changing it right now. See?”

She takes a peek at the change before leaning back. “Whatever you say, potato queen.”

He laughs, but doesn’t reply, too focused on his protein-packed parfait. This is the first time he can remember actually even _having_ an Asian acquaintance (friend?) and hanging out with them. And actually _enjoying_ himself. He then takes a sip from his lychee mimosa and groans. “I think you were onto something here.”

She doesn’t say anything, which is when he looks up to see her staring at her plate as she eats.

Ryan furrows his eyebrows. “You okay there? You got a little quiet.”

“Was I being too mean?” She bites her lip. “Because I know I probably said some things that were out of line, like about the kinds of guys you date and not being a good Asian kid—”

“Oh! Uh, no, you’re good,” he assures her, wiping his mouth with a napkin. When she looks at him disbelievingly, Ryan laughs at himself. “Really. Everything you said was true! I know I suck at being a good Asian.”

“Okay, but maybe I shouldn’t have said it,” Reese says. “Sorry.”

“No! I mean—I, uh, I like it actually.” He smiles shyly. “Honestly, like, you’re the first Asian friend I’ve made in years, which you could probably tell based off of all the other things you know about me, and you know what? I _do_ deserve to be dragged. I _do_ stay away from carbs. I _have_ only been with white guys,” he admits, voice catching toward the end, though Reese doesn’t seem to have noticed. “I _do_ go visit my parents very rarely. But that’s because they keep pushing for me to get married.”

“Do they know?” she asks, sipping her tea.

“That I’m gay? Yeah.” He rolls his eyes. “I introduced them to… an ex, I guess, last year, and they _really_ liked him, to say the least. Hence all the marriage talk since then. But we broke up.” He swirls his glass idly. “I’m glad I don’t get to miss out on this aspect of the Asian kid experience, I guess. Anymore.”

“I get that. Like, on one hand, I hate that my parents are so fixated on marriage being the ultimate milestone in life, but at the same time, I just,” she sighs, placing her hand over her heart, “get so giddy every time my family says anything about me having a wife. Like, I want to be married. I know I do. But how much of that is just me being really gay? How much of that is from being socialized from childhood to want that? From society telling women we all want this kind of thing and from my Chinese parents and Chinese culture also saying marriage is the ultimate goal in life?”’

“Right. I _feel_ that. The Chinese parents part, I mean.” Ryan crosses his legs. “I mean, I guess I just… never thought that much ahead.” Though he did that once, and look where that got him. “My best friend is a single mom, and even though she personally doesn’t regret her relationship with her kid’s dad, I guess that’s just always made me wary.” The conversation’s hitting a little too close to home, though, so he changes the subject, very obviously, but Reese doesn’t call him out on it. “You ever get annoyed, though, being a gay Asian designer? How no one ever thinks you could exist?”

“Yeah! And then they all just assume you’re just an expert in, like, cheongsam. Like, hello? I can’t even tell the difference between that and a kimono!” She pauses. “Actually, I can, but I just tell people I can’t.”

“Easier that way,” Ryan agrees. “I think, growing up, I kept hoping if I made a point to not know Chinese stuff, then everyone would be able to tell I was born here. That’s why I’m such a bad Asian now.”

“Oh, Ryan, I’m sorry. I was just joking when I said all that,” Reese says, looking guilty. She shakes her head when Ryan opens his mouth to talk. “I don’t think you’re a bad Asian at all. I just… growing up around other Asian kids, we used to argue about who the better Asian was. Like, who was better at math, piano, violin, whatever. I feel like that was our version of our parents bragging about our kids. And I just… assumed you and I had similar experiences—”

“I mean, going back to what we’ve talked about so far, we do,” Ryan cuts in. “Don’t worry about being too mean or whatever, okay? If I’m uncomfortable, I’ll tell you.” He sips more of his mimosa. “I’m not used to this,” he admits. “Today has been a day of firsts for me. First Asian friend in a long time, first Asian place I’ve gone to in just as long, first time I’ve heard someone so… openly talk about their feelings…” He puts a hand on the back of his neck awkwardly and meets her eyes. She looks less worried than before, and upon closer examination, he can see that she’s just as nervous as he is, that she wants this to go well as much as he does. “It’s nice.” They share a smile. “It’s really, really nice.”

—

Ryan would complain about Reese taking advantage of the fact that he took up a job cutting hair during college, but she was nice enough to share her hazelnut coffee with him, so he just dutifully opens up his haircutting kit as she grabs a stool from her kitchen.

“The one thing I hate about having short hair is that I have to get it trimmed often. But now I have you!” She sighs happily. “What are we thinking, once a month?”

Ryan snorts. “What, just to cut your hair?” He unfolds the haircut cape. “You need to get your own haircut stuff so I don’t have to keep bringing all of this to _Queens._ ”

“Fine.” She gives him a light shove as he ties the haircut cape around her neck. “And of course not! We still need to make a plan for our company, remember?”

Ryan groans, spraying her hair with water and combing it. “I was _drunk,_ Reese. I didn’t know what I was saying.”

“But you were drunk _three times,_ and Janet said—”

“I should’ve never let you two meet.” She can’t see him, but he shakes his head anyway. “What makes you think the two of us could actually do something like that?”

“Why not?”

He pauses in his combing. She turns her head to look at him. He laughs, a bit disbelievingly and a lot confusedly. “You’re actually serious.” He crosses his arms across his chest. “Reese, how long have we known each other?”

“A few months?” The cape rustles as she counts with her fingers. “More than half a year. So?”

“So we barely know each other! We can’t start a company just because we both happen to be gay and Asian.” He resumes combing her bangs to have her hair part in the middle, just so he can get a better idea of how to trim it. “I’m going to start cutting, okay?”

“Okay,” she says with much less energy than just a minute ago, but he barely notices, mind already on how to shape her hair. For a long minute, only the scissors’ _snip-snip-snip,_ the soft whisper of the cape whenever Reese adjusts her posture, and Ryan’s murmured instructions for how she should position her head can be heard.

He doesn’t start thinking about her uncharacteristic silence—despite what he said about not knowing each other well, he knew from the get-go that he was always going to be the quieter one between the two of them—until he’s plugging in the electric shaver for the little hairs on the back of her neck. He looks back to see Reese staring at the floor, a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Hey. You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Ryan scoffs. “Yeah, right.” As he surveys the back of her neck, he says tentatively, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so harsh when I said we barely even know each other.”

“Then what _did_ you mean?” she asks quietly. “Because I thought we knew each other pretty well—I mean, I’m trusting you with my _hair._ ” She stops her shoulders mid-shrug when she remembers Ryan’s still in the middle of cutting it. “Sorry. I jumped the gun on this.”

Ryan sighs as he turns the shaver on, careful to let it minimally touch her skin, but the buzzing makes her jump anyway. “I guess… I… I’m afraid. Of getting close to people again. There was this… this person I barely knew, who I let myself trust almost immediately, but things—some of which were out of his control—happened, and then he left, so now I guess I’m afraid of it happening again.” He flicks the shaver off. “Starting a company is a big thing, which I know you know, and I’m worried a bit that you’ll up and leave in the middle of it, even though I don’t have any reason to believe you’d bail on me. I mean, you’ve seen Six Drink Ryan _three times now,_ and you still haven’t run.”

“Hey, I _like_ Six Drink Ryan. He actually enjoys my puns,” Reese retorts. “I mean, not _how_ Six Drink Ryan got to Six Drink Ryan because that much alcohol isn’t healthy, but I enjoy his personality.” More quietly, “I wouldn’t have suggested the company thing if I wasn’t serious about doing it with you.”

“Yeah, I know,” he says, which is when he realizes he actually does. Reese is a lot of things, but she never leaves him hanging; he always knows where he stands with her. He just never _trusts_ that he knows.

“We both care a lot about gay representasian, worked pretty well together that time our bosses made us do that ad with the lesbian parents and three kids, and don’t want to be where we are right now forever. We both want to be part of something bigger than what we’re doing now.” As he brushes baby powder across the back of her neck to better sweep away the little hairs, she shivers a little before continuing. “That’s why I want to start a company with you. But you’re right that we haven’t known each other that long,” she concedes. “It’s a big commitment—even if we’re both positive we wouldn’t walk out on each other, we don’t know what’ll _actually_ happen if something really big and bad does come up.”

He sighs. “Yeah.”

Reese grabs his wrist as he starts undoing the cape, and their eyes meet. Her gaze is gentle. “Even without what happened to you—which is completely valid—I get why anyone would be wary, and I’m sorry. I know I got too excited about it too fast,” she admits. Then, quietly, she says, “I’m sorry that happened to you. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Honestly? Not right now.” Ryan lifts the cape off of her and starts shaking it free of hair. “Not—not because I don’t trust you—I do. I’m just not ready to talk about it with anybody right now. And stop apologizing for being excited!”

“That’s okay. You don’t ever have to tell me—or anyone—about it if you don’t want to.” She bites her lip. “And come on, Ryan. I _know_ I always get too excited about stuff, like when we first met, and then I just forget—”

“Whoa, stop right there,” Ryan interrupts. He folds the cape back into his box before grabbing her wrists to stop her from fidgeting, making a face. “Sorry in advance for being bad at this because I never express my feelings _ever,_ but I _like_ that you’re so excited about things. That night, it wasn’t just you, okay? I felt like… like we’d known each other in a past life or something, and you’re… becoming one of my closest friends. So don’t dial yourself back for me, okay? I like you the way you are. You’re… great.” He grimaces at himself as he turns away to busy himself with his haircutting kit, face red. “I’m sorry. I’m just… being ridiculous.”

She stands up, putting her hands on her hips. “Ryan.”

He ignores her. “I’ll get the broom.”

She throws a cushion at him.

“Hey!” Ryan yelps. Finally turning to face her, he glares at her unimpressed expression. “What was that for?”

“For calling your completely valid feelings ridiculous!” Reese brings the stool back into the kitchen, fetching the broom herself. “I’m sorry I sprung it on you like we _had_ to do it. You’re right to have misgivings—a lot of things could go wrong.”

“But you aren’t one of them. I _do_ trust you to see it through, whether we’re doing it together or you’re doing it on your own. I guess I’m just not ready to seriously consider a big career move like that right now. Which doesn’t mean you should wait for me to be. If you’re ready, you should go ahead on your own or with someone else. I know you’re going to be amazing at it. You care so much about this stuff, and you have both the passion and drive to do it.” He groans again, aware that his face is still hot. “What are you doing to me, Reese? Ever since I met you, I’ve expressed my feelings more times in these past few months than in my entire _life._ ”

“Aw, I’m inspiring you to be more open with people!” Reese exclaims as she sweeps up her hair. “Or rather, I’m your inspir _asian._ ”

Ryan rolls his eyes. “I take it back. All of it.”

“Rude. As. Hell,” she says, but she’s smiling. “Thanks for cutting my hair, hon.”

“So I feel like Saturdays have been working for us so far?”

She stops sweeping. “What?”

“You know, for your hair?” Ryan raises an eyebrow. “You were saying once a month?”

“Oh!” She rubs the back of her neck awkwardly, which is a first; usually, _he’s_ the awkward one. “I mean, you really don’t have to—”

“I like hanging out with you, too.” He knocks his shoulder into hers and grins as he takes the broom from her. “And… even if I don’t end up getting involved, it wouldn’t hurt to start drafting a plan for your company, right?”

—

“You know, when we first started doing this, I wasn’t expecting it to turn into a sleepover every single time,” Ryan muses, as he takes a swig of his Horlicks-Milo-Ovaltine concoction. Reese judged him for it when he dumped it all in, but _whatever._ It’s his taste buds—and _all chocolate malt anyway._ “Not that I mind, but.”

“If only you didn’t live in Brooklyn.”

“If only you didn’t live in Queens, you mean! Also, you’re in Flushing—doesn’t everyone speak Mandarin there? What are you even doing there?”

“Ugh, I _know._ I mean, _most_ people speak Mandarin, and I just… ugh.” Reese leans back against the couch, digging her feet into the carpet. “I like your rug. It’s so soft.”

Ryan finishes off the rest of his mug, sets it down a safe distance away, and lies down flat on the carpet. “Yeah.”

She mirrors him a few minutes later. A lamp is on, but it’s on the other side of the room, so Reese looks a little blurry around the edges, despite being only inches away. “I’ve drifted apart from a lot of people over the years. Sometimes because of my temper—I used to storm off at every little thing—or because people found out I was gay, or because everyone else was growing up, and I felt like I was in limbo, like I couldn’t move on with my life because I didn’t know what to do with the fact that being attracted to women was always going to be a part of it.” She lets out a weary sigh, tapping her fingers on the carpet. “I never got to say what I needed to say to them because they’re no longer a part of my life.”

“Like what?” Ryan asks softly. He turns to look at her, studying her profile. In the dark, with her bangs falling away to the side, he gets a glimpse of what she must have been like in high school. A high forehead hidden by long hair, almost to her elbows, providing her a barrier from the world, but keeping her from it, too.

She stares steadfastly at the ceiling. “Oh, you know, things like… ‘Thanks for being in my life when I needed you there.’ ‘You destroyed my self esteem when you said nobody else was going to put up with me.’ ‘The first girl I ever dated was your sister, and now she says she just pretended to be my girlfriend because she wanted to know if it was true that I was gay.’”

Ryan winces. “I’m sorry.”

She props herself up with an elbow and looks at him, brushing her long bangs out of her eyes. “You’ve said before that you’re not used to… me and my _feelings._ _This_ is why.”

He snorts. “‘Not used to’ is putting it lightly. You’re so… attuned to them,” he observes. “It’s not something I’ve seen a lot of, especially in other Asians. It’s hard.”

“Yeah.” She starts doodling on the carpet between them. “I used to think, if I stay in Queens, where I grew up after my dad married my stepmom, I’ll never come out, and therefore,” she trails off, voice softening to a whisper, “I’ll never be gay.” She shakes her head ruefully. “Or maybe I think there’ll be a day I’ll run into someone from my past in Flushing, and then I’ll get to finally have that confrontation with them.”

“When did you come out?”

“To the world? After I graduated college. To my family? When that issue of _GAYSIAN AMERICA_ came out. I just… mailed them copies.”

“Now _that_ is a power move,” Ryan says, and they share a laugh. “Reese, babe, you _have_ to get out of Queens. She’s holding you back.”

“Where would I go? Staten Island?”

He wrinkles his nose. “Never mind. You’re better off in Queens if _Staten Island_ is how you want to move on.” He then sighs, heart rate starting to quicken. “Though I probably shouldn’t talk, given how _I_ haven’t.”

“Does it have anything to do with the person you were talking about during our first Chaturgay?”

“Yeah,” Ryan exhales, and his shoulders relax. He’s a little surprised to realize just how much he’s been carrying within him about it. About _him._ “I’m a little surprised you haven’t asked me about him yet, to be honest. Especially since your grandma recognized me from the photo the paparazzi got of me and him around a year ago.”

She snorts. “Oh, please. I grew up with nosy Chinese parents, same as you. Last thing I want to do is subject another person to that level of invasiveness.” She squeezes his hand. “I always thought there was something… sad about you. I don’t mean in a pitiful way, just… you look sad. Even when you’re smiling or laughing, you carry a certain weight, some kind of guardedness,” she observes softly. “Sure, I wondered why, but mostly… I just want you to stop hurting.” Then she grimaces. “Was that too cheesy?”

“Lucky for you I  _love_ cheese, then. I want you to stop hurting, too. Feelings suck.” He gives her a wry smile. “At least your grandma finally stopped asking if we were dating when she saw that.”

“To your face, maybe,” Reese scoffs.

They both laugh at that.

Ryan sighs. “I think… I fell in love with him. He was my… I don’t even know. We never defined it—didn’t get the chance. And even though we were only together for, like, a night, it didn’t feel like a one-night stand; we were talking about me going to China, and I was actually seriously considering it.” He groans and hides his face in his hands. “It… _felt_ like so much more than a fling. To me, at least. But we were barely together.”

“Well, to me, he sounds like an ex. But what do I know?” She flops over onto her stomach, burying her face in her arms, and voice muffled, she continues, “I still think waiting in Flushing for confrontations that’ll never happen is a good idea.”

“I think you’re allowed to outgrow home without those reckonings. It’s not a milestone or requirement or anything,” Ryan says quietly. “They never go the way you imagine, anyway. Mostly, it’s just some awkwardness, followed by a year of radio silence, and then your mom’s pounding on your door asking you if you’ve got another naked white guy in your bed again and telling you to get up and come see your grandma.”

Reese peeks at him from between her arms before they start cracking up.

“Your experiences are _not_ universal.” She lets out another sigh. “But I think you’re right about the outgrowing. Maybe I _will_ move to Staten Island.”

Ryan wrinkles his nose. “That’s so drastic.”

“No associations with guilt or repression there, though.” She groans. “Does this mean I have to add to my list of things I look for in a wife? _Must be willing to tolerate Staten Island._ ”

“Isn’t it just a list of all the last names you’d like to hyphenate with?”

“Don’t tell me _you_ don’t have one.”

“Three things. First, with all the stuff that happened with that guy, I doubt I’m going to even go on a _date_ any time soon. Second, after a lifetime of kids saying my last name was short for ‘fuck you’ when they weren’t making fun of me for being gay, the last thing I want is to make a pun out of my name. And last of all—the only pun I can think of is with whatever Chinese equivalent of ‘Kung’ would be, for ‘kung fu.’”

“Gong,” Reese supplies absentmindedly as she sits up and hugs her legs to her chest. “You really don’t think you’ll find love again?”

“No fucking idea,” Ryan replies honestly. “And frankly, I don’t know how _you_ think you can, when you can’t even tell when a girl’s hitting on you.”

She groans loudly. “Shut _up._ I can’t help that I think they’re just being nice.”

“Oh, I think they _are._ They just also want to date you.”

“Curse society for making me believe women would only ever want to be friends.” She bangs her first on the carpet. “And me for never feeling like a girl could ever be interested in me for me.”

“Hey, what that girl did to you was really shitty, and I’m sorry that happened.”

“I’m a little jealous of you, you know that? You’re so comfortable with being gay and being so open about it. Meanwhile, half of me loves looking so gay, while the other half of me is nervous about everyone being able to read me as a lesbian.” She runs a hand through her hair. “Sorry. I know you’ve had to go through your own things to be able to get to this point.”

“It’s okay. I’m jealous of how you can express your feelings without feeling like you’re making a huge mistake, you know? But we’re both getting there.”

She lets out a sigh, quiet and shuddery. “None of it’s easy. But it’s easier with you.”

“Yeah.” They share a smile before Ryan gets up to refill their mugs. “Yeah.”

—

Ryan stares blankly out the window as Reese drives on. The sunshine seems an insult, almost; he’d have much preferred for it to be raining, pouring.

Flooding, as they lowered Mama’s casket into the ground, next to Yehyeh.

He didn’t— _couldn’t_ —

Reese taps her fingers on the steering wheel. “Where to next, hon?”

He sighs after a long second, only then realizing she’s speaking to him. “You can just bring me back to mine. You’ve already done enough.”

“You sure? If you don’t want to be alone, you don’t have to be,” she says quietly.

“You already drove my parents and me _and_ came to the funeral with me,” Ryan replies shortly, even though Reese doesn’t deserve it. “It’s enough.”

Out of the corner of his eye, she nods. “Fine. But if you change your mind, let me know, and I’ll come over, okay? We’ll hate-watch something terrible and throw popcorn at the screen, okay?”

“ _Roast in the Bell?_ ” Ryan asks in a small voice. “We haven’t watched that lately.”

“Hey, whose fault is that?” Reese makes a turn. “ _You’re_ the one who keeps getting so angry at Starlett Nocantsson that you shut it off before we’re even halfway through!”

“Maybe not, then,” he sighs, fumbling with his phone before giving her a small smile. “Thanks, though, for everything.”

She squeezes his shoulder as she stops in front of his apartment building. “What are best gays for, huh?” Then she reaches over and hugs him tight. “Just let me know what you need. You okay getting in by yourself?”

He lets out a shuddery breath and slumps into her arms. “Yeah. Thank you so much, honestly.”

She waves it off and unlocks the car doors. “Nothing to thank me for. I’ll check in on you later, okay?”

Ryan nods and squeezes her hand, before taking a deep breath and opening the car door. He walks into the building and gets in the elevator with great difficulty, feeling like his bones have turned into bones, the weight and stickiness making his every step cling to the floor.

Nothing felt real at the funeral—he was just dreaming; what he saw today was just a really good wax statue for a really sick joke; Mama was just sleeping and would wake up any moment and ask him if he’d eaten yet.

It’s all sinking in now.

He’s taken just half a step into his apartment before his legs fail him. Door still ajar, he crumples to the floor, whole body overcome with uncontrollable shaking. With the last of his strength, he elbows the door closed and grunts as he collapses completely, barely throwing his hands out at the floor in time to keep his chin from hitting the tiles.

Too many firsts have happened these past few days. First time he woke up without Mama in the world was three days ago. First time he’s been in his apartment since she _left_ was… right now, actually, since he’d slept on Mom and Dad’s couch for the past few days. First time he saw her gravestone was today—not that he hadn’t seen it before; he’s known ever since he was able to understand death that the blank spot next to Yehyeh’s name on the gravestone was for Mama, but…

Today is the first day that spot was no longer empty. Soon, her name and hometown and birth and death dates will be inscribed on the marble, and no matter how long they put it off, there _will_ be a first time they go to another Cantonese opera without her. A first time they bring out the mooncake and she isn’t there to chide him for not having any. A first time they visit her as well when they go pay their respects to Yehyeh during Tomb-Sweeping Festival.

A mournful wail rips its way out of his throat, sounding so childlike that it takes him a few moments to realize it’s coming from himself. During her last days, as they sat by her bedside in turns, she’d—she’d asked him about—asked if he still talked to—to that nice boy from two years ago—or met another nice boy—and what had he done? Just shaken his head and smiled, mouth unable to spin his words into something she could understand—

He’s going to be haunted by the fact that he doesn’t know what Mama’s last words to him were for the rest of his life, and because he has no anchors in Cantonese, everything she said has long flown out of his memory, like leaves on a windy day.

What good has any of this distance _actually_ done him? All he’s done is erect a wall around himself, so tall and wide and thick yet _invisible_ that it took Mama being on her deathbed for him to realize just how colossal the wall has since become, how impenetrable.

It’s kept all things Chinese out, even parts of himself, and he’s known that for years. Known and hadn’t cared, hadn’t done anything about it because it wasn’t like anything it kept out _mattered,_ but today—

He just keeps thinking about Mama smiling feebly at him, her being all too aware that he didn’t understand what she was saying. Looking at him through the wall, knowing it was invincible against everything outside—this is the kind of fortress that can only be dismantled from the inside.

If he just leaves the wall alone, like he’s always done, who knows how much bigger it will get? Or if everyone still waiting outside for him will always be there? They could go involuntarily, like Mama, or just decide to walk away on their own, and then what would it matter if the wall stayed up? There’d be nothing— _no one_ —to keep out; it’d just be keeping him in.

And it’s already only doing that.

He moans again, too numb and dehydrated to actually cry. The thing is, he had thought that he had more time. That one day he would wake up feeling differently about Chinese culture—either he would find himself ready to embrace it or just not caring that it didn’t have a place in his life, that it no longer did, but it’s been years, and he’s as ambivalent about it as ever.

Yes, it’s home. But home has always been a precarious space for him anyway.

—

By the time he gets off the floor, body aching from not moving for hours, the sky is dark, but he pays it no mind, only groping his pockets to check for his keys and wallet before hopping on the subway to Reese’s.

He rings the doorbell, and she opens the door, surprised. “I was just about to call you, see if I could sleep over,” she says as she lets him in.

Ryan takes off his shoes and grabs the slippers he always borrows from her, the jumbo pink ones she bought especially for him. As she takes his jacket, Ryan stops her with a hand on her arm and exhales. “You know how we’ve been writing up a plan for that company we’re going to start together?”

She drapes his jacket on a chair. “Yeah.” He watches as she processes his question, the way her smile lights up her entire face, cautiously but surely. “Ryan, are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Time to knock it all down. It’s very possible he won’t like what he finds outside the wall, but at this point, he doesn’t even know _what_ he’ll find.

“Yeah. We’ve been talking about it for _months,_ now, and I think we’re ready.” Her smile is contagious, and suddenly, he doesn’t feel as lost anymore. “Let’s do it.”

—

Ryan follows his parents inside their apartment quietly, exchanging his shoes for the now too small slippers automatically. They just got home from their first observation of Tomb-Sweeping Festival since Mama passed away, and it was just… difficult.

“I’ll put these in the fridge?” Ryan holds up the red plastic bags of the food offerings they’d barely touched, even though they were supposed to help themselves in front of Mama and Yehyeh to show they were doing fine without them.

Mom nods. “Thank you. You stay dinner?”

“Sure.” He starts taking the food out of the bags. “I have to leave early, though—Reese and I still have to talk over some stuff for our company.”

“Then leave out char siu and chicken, I heat up.” She pats his arm in passing, on her way to the rice cooker. “Don’t worry, we eat fast.”

Dad shuffles into the kitchen next, gently pushing Ryan aside. “I put away. You sit down, rest. Long night ahead of you.”

“Are you sure?” Ryan asks tentatively, taking in Dad’s worn frame. He looks like he’s aged a decade over the day. Ryan has never been more aware of the wrinkles on Dad’s face, his hunched posture, or his slight limp; even though Dad’s had those for as long as Ryan can remember, the Dad in his childhood memories was always a looming figure, not the frail shadow he is today.

Dad waves at him dismissively, voice gruff. “Go.”

“Okay.” Ryan sits down in the kitchen chair. He takes the chance to look around the eternally cluttered kitchen, eyes automatically skipping over the freezer because Mom stuck the photo of him and Ning with Mama there as soon as it had developed. It’s a reflex he learned quickly; they’ve put up at least two more photos from the same day in the living room, too.

Then he frowns because something looks different—off—so he looks again, forcing himself to look at the freezer.

It’s not there.

The freezer only has a bunch of flyers for various Chinese-language healthcare services and the free magnetic notepad from a local real estate agent they’d received in the mail, just like before Ning came into their lives.

Like he never existed.

Somehow, he prefers the pictures. He would rather Ning plastered all over than for him to be forgotten, and isn’t that the perfect epiphany to be having in his parents’ apartment?

“Did you not get mooncake?” Ryan asks after a long moment, as he tries to recall whether he saw the photos with Ning in the living room when he came in. He can’t, but he doesn’t want to check. His heart aches.

“Mooncake is September, now only April,” Dad grunts as he continues playing Fridge Tetris.

“I meant last year, sorry.” Ryan taps his fingers on the table. “I only remembered right now that you didn’t try to make me eat it last year.”

“We eat, just not tell you,” Mom says quietly, pausing momentarily in washing the rice. “Want you visit more, so not want annoy you.”

“Oh.” He feels his face heat up and his eyes suddenly grow damp. Shit. He hastily wipes his eyes on his sleeve and gets up unsteadily, nearly knocking the chair over. Then he walks over to Mom. An expression of thanks burns his tongue until he swallows hard, throwing it away. He smiles at her. “Can I help?”

—

Ryan lets himself into his apartment and immediately slumps onto the couch, the high from celebrating the FashionEASTas’ first month of existence with Reese at her new place on Staten Island only now wearing off. They did it! They really did! Found a location, recruited a team of like-minded people, lined up a bunch of clients—with full support from their former bosses, to boot. _GAYSIAN AMERICA_ even reached out to talk to them about featuring them for the FashionEASTas’ half-year birthday, so they have a lot to look forward to.

He looks around his living room, surveying his wall of framed magazine covers. He needs to rearrange those soon to make room for the new ones; considering a second wall for his covers feels preemptive right now, because who knows how long they’ll be able to keep the FashionEASTas going?

And for—

His eyes fall onto the folder he left on his end table for a good number of months now, next to the pot of scallion Reese gave him. The folder that has been there ever since he resolved to be proud of _all_ the work he’s ever done.

Then, before he realizes what he’s doing, he gets up and starts carefully removing the covers, spacing them out less than before.

He falls into an easy rhythm of removing the frames from the wall, re-spacing out the adhesive hooks with the length of his thumb as a benchmark, and hanging them back up. Before long, he’s freed up about a fifth of the wall for future covers. He stands back to admire his handiwork, noting a free spot at the end of the last row of covers, about two feet from the floor.

He eyes the folder on the other side of the couch again and makes his way over to it slowly with a sigh. Taking a deep breath, he flips it open.

He’s breathless anyway as he takes in Ning’s _Culture Chic_ cover, despite knowing every line and curve and detail by heart, hands shaking at the memory of his body under his fingertips. He bites his lip as he studies the harsh gaze on Ning’s face and the firm line of his frown, remembering how Ning had turned those on him right before he left. He had just gotten used to Ning’s gentleness, so the sudden turnaround had cut him particularly deeply. What a fool he was, to fall for him, when that gentleness had been the act, not the callousness.

Suddenly angry, Ryan jabs a finger at the cover, almost touching Ning’s face but stopping himself at the last second. “You’re never breaking my heart again,” he says hoarsely but steadily, grabbing an empty picture frame from his closet.

Then he hangs it up in the free space, moves the end table in front of it, and hides Ning’s cover behind the plant.

—

“So.” Nora folds her hands in her lap and bites her lip. “What do you think?”

Ryan leans back in his chair. “I think I just sat in my office listening to you worry about something that isn’t going to happen for half an hour.”

“But, like, what do you _think._ ”

Ryan sighs. “She’s going to say yes. Worrying about her saying no is a waste of time and energy when you should be focusing on what you’re planning to say when you propose.”

She bites her lip. “Are you sure?”

“Let’s go over the facts, shall we?” Ryan starts counting off his fingers. “First, you are madly in love with each other. Second, you’ve talked about whether you two would ever want to get married, which is a yes. Third, you already have the ring, which you got _after_ you two shared your ring sizes and talked about what kind of rings you like. There is no number four.” He sighs, voice softening. “Lastly, you planned all this for your third anniversary. Do you really want to leave Reese waiting in the gazebo, alone and unproposed to?”

“No,” she says begrudgingly.

Ryan picks up his phone. “So I’ll call and tell her to stop drooling over everything at Lady M and meet you there? And we can _finally_ start walking over?”

“Yeah.”

He shakes his head as he dials. “You two are truly meant for each other. I had to sit through an _hour_ of rambling for Reese when she was freaking out about whether you liked her or not, when you’d been dating for _two months._ ”

“Yeah, yeah,” she says dismissively, waving him off as they leave Ryan’s office for the elevator. “You might be laughing now, but just you wait. There _will_ be a day when you’ll be wondering whether the love of your life—who is being obvious as _fuck_ —actually _is_ in love with you, and I’ll be there with you, laughing my ass off in a corner.”

Ning enters his mind, unbidden. “Ha! That’ll be the day. Hold the elevator for me, okay? I’ll catch up.” As Nora presses the down elevator button, the call finally connects, and he stops walking when he’s halfway to the elevator. At normal volume, Ryan says, “Hey, can you meet me over at the gazebo in, like, twenty minutes? My PoGo tracker says there’s a Swablu there.” Then, lower, he hisses, “Don’t you dare freak out on me now, Reese. You better be ready to propose, or so help me, I _will_ propose _for_ you. I have a Ring Pop in my pocket. No, watermelon. What? No one likes blue raspberry! What the hell is _blue flavor?_ Well then, you’re both wrong! Listen, elevator’s here. Think about it this way—if you don’t propose, your fiancée is getting a watermelon Ring Pop, so do it before I do!”

“What was that?” Nora asks after Ryan hangs up. “You sounded kind of… intense.”

“Nothing,” Ryan replies, just as the elevator doors slide shut. “Don’t worry about it.”

—

Janet catches the bouquet of galaxy-dyed roses at Reese and Nora’s wedding.

Ryan spends the whole night wishing he didn’t wish it had been him.

—

For so long, Ryan had managed to resist thinking about Ning, but now look at him. Just one meeting with Ning, and he was only able to ignore his erection for the ten minutes he was in the shower before caving in and wrapping a hand around himself.

That’s not even counting the time he gracelessly stuck his hand in his pajama pants during the early hours of the morning after Dex told him Ning wanted him as his stylist again a few months back. Or how many other late nights he’s spent thinking about him since then.

Today… they’d touched. Twice. Right when Ryan was about to knock on his suite door and ended up knocking on Ning’s chest instead, and when Ning grabbed his hand just as he got up to escape the awkwardness.

Same hand both times. He can still feel the heat of Ning’s skin from where they’d been touching. It doesn’t help that Ning has only grown more attractive over the years.

So much for the shower—he’s overheating already, his sweat intermingling with the water droplets still all over his back and chest and shoulders, because he hadn’t bothered to dry off. Just slung his towel over his shoulder, fumbled for the lube as he got on his bed, laid his towel flat on the bed. Propped his pillows up, leaned his back against them.

Rolled his eyes at himself the whole time.

His desperation wins out over his self-derision, though, and a shudder ripples through his entire body even before he gets his hand back on himself, when he thinks about the way Ning’s eyes were on him when he was just entering the suite, the way Ning had seemed so… _entranced,_ he doesn’t want to want to say—after all, Ning was only looking at him like that because that’s how people look at people they haven’t seen in seven years. People they used to know.

People they—

He can’t lie to himself anymore. He still wants him. But he really should stop reading into everything and getting his hopes up.

Still. Unable to resist, Ryan closes his eyes, thinking about how Ning’s face has grown more angular over the years. The curve of his mouth still looks soft and lovely. He kissed that mouth, once. Would kissing him still feel the same, after all these years?

Ryan finds himself unable to resist reading into how Ning’s eyes had seemed glued to Ryan’s body and shivers at the thought of Ning watching him like this, head thrown back, legs spread wide with his hand stroking himself, toes pointed up at the ceiling.

He spills lube on his fingers clumsily and rubs messily around his entrance, taking a moment to massage his perineum before pressing a finger inside. He gasps as he imagines Ning’s eyes widening at the sight of him, his breath getting shorter, his hands clenching into fists. His nails digging into his palms. Ning squirming as he watches.

Ryan is going to regret it tomorrow, but he presses another finger inside soon after, scissoring himself open more quickly than he usually would. His dick leaks incessantly, but he ignores it, too intent on sliding his fingers deep inside himself.

He grunts as he fucks himself with his fingers, fast and messy, thinking about how Ning would be pressing a hand between his legs and pushing up right about now. Ning would lick his lips and unbutton his pants with forced casualness, letting out a quiet moan in sympathy at the way Ryan’s teasing himself, but Ryan wouldn’t let him touch him just yet. He’d make Ning beg, make Ning look at what he’s been missing out on for the past seven years, make Ning watch Ryan touch himself because Ning hadn’t been here to do it for him.

Ryan lets out an embarrassingly loud moan as he crooks his fingers, back arching off the bed. He thinks about Ning sitting on the bed next to him, hands digging into his thighs and distressing the fabric of his pants because Ryan keeps shaking his head every time Ning begs him to let him touch him, even as he aches for Ning’s hands on him.

_Let me touch you._

_No._

_Please._

_Why?_ Ryan would gasp out as he teased himself. _Why do you deserve to touch me?_

Embarrassment floods his face, but he lets himself imagine Ning saying it anyway, helplessly and desperately. _Let me take care of you._

 _Kiss me,_ he would command, even as the flush of his embarrassment spreads to his chest.

His neck arches as he imagines Ning’s hands weaving into his hair, Ning kissing him hungrily, his scalp tingling pleasantly as Ning tugs a little too hard because it’s too difficult to ignore the rest of Ryan writhing under him as they kiss. He thinks about Ning panting in his mouth when Ryan speeds up his strokes, about Ning continuing to beg, about Ning waiting for him to cave.

He knows he wouldn’t be able to keep it up for long, though. His skin would be feverish, hands cramping, too aroused to have the coordination to make himself come, and then he would relent, finally letting Ning touch him. Uselessly scrabbling at Ning’s arms and pleading for Ning to take his clothes off.

 _Sh, sh, patience_ , Ning would say soothingly, hands finally on him, slowly stroking everywhere he can reach, drinking in his pathetic whine.

 _Clothes,_ Ryan would continue to insist.

Ning’s smile would turn wicked as he closed his hand around Ryan’s own, and they would stroke him together. _Let me take care of you first, hm?_

Ryan jerks up into his hand and comes at the thought of Ning whispering softly in his ear, his rough jeans rubbing against Ryan’s sensitive skin as he maneuvers himself between Ryan’s legs, sending Ryan’s nerves into overdrive because everything just feels like _so much_ right now.

Ning would turn the tables on him and tease Ryan until he was begging for more, and he would do it. Do anything, as long as Ning never stopped touching him. He strokes himself through the orgasm, twitching at the thought of Ning’s still-clothed body on top of his, rolling his eyes at himself when he’s still hard after that. He always is, when he thinks about Ning and his disarming smile, his passion. His tenderness, which Ryan worked so hard for.

He doesn’t feel like taking care of it, so he just breathes and waits for it to fade. Waits for the longing to fade, because for all the reasons this fantasy will forever be just a fantasy, there’s one more.

He knows Ning wouldn’t be the one begging.

With a slight wince, he lies on his back, sweat cooling on his skin, heart rate slowly going back to normal. The haze of his arousal gone and nothing but the moonlight from the window to keep him company, it would be startlingly easy for him to pretend his mind turned to Ning just because it’s been a while and Ryan always thinks about Ning when it’s been a while.

But that would be lying.

He wipes his forehead and pushes his hair out of his eyes with the back of his hand, laughing as he shakes his head at himself.

Even in his fantasies he doesn’t get what he wants.

—

Arms laden with red plastic bags of food, Ryan takes a deep breath and rings his parents’ doorbell.

Dad answers it, looking confused, then worried. “Ryan? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine. I just realized I hadn’t come by in a while.” He lifts up the bags. “Mom hasn’t started dinner yet, right? I was thinking we could do hotpot.”

Dad doesn’t answer for a moment, and then Ryan is suddenly aware of how he must look, dropping in on his parents without warning. It’s not like their lives revolve around him.

“Sorry, I had such a busy morning that I forgot to call first.” Face heating up (in shame? guilt? embarrassment?), he turns to go. “I’ll just—”

“No!” Dad grabs his wrist, moving aside to pull Ryan inside. “Good you come.”

“喺邊個呀？” Mom calls out from the kitchen as she comes out, wiping her hands on her apron. “Ryan!” She furrows her eyebrows, rushing over to cup his face. “You okay?” _[“Who is it?” in Cantonese]_

“Yeah, I’m fine, I’m fine,” Ryan assures her. “I just got back from visiting Mama, thought I’d stop by.” Once Mom has determined for herself that he’s fine, Ryan enters the kitchen and sets the bags on the table. “You haven’t started making dinner yet, right? I have stuff for hotpot.”

“I start make soup. You say early, I tell you don’t buy so much. So much food here,” Mom chides as she peeks into the bags. She takes out some of the spinach and hands it to Dad, who brings it to the sink.

“How today? Windy?” Dad fills a basin with water for the spinach. “Why not tell us you go today, we go with you.”

“Just a little. A lot of butterflies around.” Ryan takes some more things out of the bag closest to him and shows them to Mom, putting them back in the bag when Mom shakes her head. “I’ve been trying to find time to go for the past month, but my schedule keeps moving around, so I didn’t want to keep canceling on you,” he explains, before clearing his throat. He can feel his neck heating up. “And, uh, I didn’t go by myself. Ning went with me.” When Mom and Dad don’t say anything, Ryan takes a deep breath and soldiers onward. “He, uh, came back. Like, a week ago?”

“A week,” Mom repeats. He can’t read her expression.

“I think I… I think I told you that already,” Ryan says, knowing full well he didn’t because he wanted just one week of Ning without Mom and Dad being, well, Mom and Dad. “I must’ve forgotten to say when exactly because I’ve been so busy with work, sorry.”

Dad turns off the faucet, raising his eyebrows. Mom stops taking things out of the bags, and the rustling comes to a stop. Then, with deliberate nonchalance, as they both study Ryan, Dad hums thoughtfully, “Huh.”

“Which, uh, brings me to another thing.” Ryan rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “If there’s leftovers from today, I was going to bring it home. Because I was thinking to do hotpot when Ning comes over for dinner tomorrow, too.” He coughs and looks away, face now on fire. “Just to, uh, talk about what he’s wearing for the critic screening later this week. Work stuff.”

“Why not say earlier?” Mom exclaims with exaggerated nonchalance, as she starts putting things back in the bags. Ryan really has to admire her restraint; no doubt she’s itching to press him for developments in his and Ning’s nonexistent relationship. “We eat own, you save fresh for Ning tomorrow.”

“Wait, wait, we can’t eat all of it by ourselves,” Ryan protests. “And he’s bringing some food, too. Said he doesn’t trust an American like me to know how to buy seafood.”

Dad snorts. “He’s right.”

Mom pats his shoulder, before walking briskly to the stove to bring the heat back down to a simmer for the soup. “You take out what you want eat then, okay? Put rest in fridge until you go home.”

“Okay, sure.” Ryan takes out the raw beef, enoki mushrooms, and tofu. “You want anything else?”

Dad comes over and looks in the bags. “No. We have pumpkin already, I know you like that.” Then, gruffly, he asks, “How Ning? You two okay?”

“He’s good. Oh, and he wants to see you guys! Dimsum, on Wednesday?”

“Nice boy, love to see him.” Mom turns to face Ryan. She pats his cheek as he walks over to the fridge to stick the rest of the food he brought in there and take out some shrimp, pumpkin, and winter melon. “You look lighter, happier. I am glad you two find each other again.”

There it is. “Oh, uh, we’re not…” Ryan groans, face still red. “We’ve just been talking, that’s all.”

“So you don’t want back together?” Dad inquires faux-casually, taking the ingredients from Ryan and washing them. Ryan then grabs plates from a cupboard and starts slicing the winter melon into smaller chunks.

“That’s…” He makes a face. “That’s a complicated question, especially when I don’t even know what _he_ wants. Can we talk about something else?”

Thankfully, Dad nods, patting him on the back. “So why hotpot? Now, so warm for hotpot.”

“Honestly?” Ryan thinks back on how he impulsively left for Chinatown after visiting Mama, strolling through the aisles of the first supermarket he came across as he went through his childhood memories for visuals of the foods he’s really missed eating. He shrugs. “I just missed it, even though I’ve forgotten what everything is called. Plus, Ning’s going to be here for a while, and I figured he’s probably missing Chinese food himself, right? I don’t know how to make anything, but I thought hotpot would be easy enough to do. With a test run today, of course.”

Dad grabs the portable burner from an old box under the kitchen table, holding it as Ryan clears the table in the living room and lays down some newspaper. Mom follows soon after with two plates full of raw ingredients, before disappearing back into the kitchen for a pot of water. Ryan makes a quick trip back to the kitchen himself for the little sauce dishes sitting on one of the higher shelves in the cupboard above the sink, passing them to Dad upon re-entering the living room.

“You say forgot, want learn again?” Dad asks after plugging the burner in. He grabs soy sauce and vinegar before pouring them into little sauce dishes.

“Yeah, definitely.” Ryan points to the beef. “What do you call that?”

“Ngau juk (牛肉).” Dad picks up the beef slices with the communal chopsticks and drops them into the now boiling water.

Ryan repeats it carefully, the vowels and tones familiar as they come out of his mouth, bringing to mind memories of himself as a young child labeling everything with ease. “Would you happen to know how to say it in, um, Mandarin?”

Dad shakes his head, but he’s grinning. Ryan doesn’t fight his blush, aware he’s just shown his hand—but he doesn’t feel like he’s lost anything. More like he’s found it, rather. “Ask Mom.”

He asks when Mom comes back into the living room with the soup, this time for good. She sits down on Ryan’s other side, frowning as she tries to remember.

“Oh yeah, I just got some new apps on my phone.” He shows them Pleco and Duolingo. “I thought—since Ning is back—I’d probably need them?”

“This one,” Mom says, pointing at Duolingo, “teach you Chinese?”

“Mandarin.”

“You put on my phone, too? Ning come back… I think means we need, too,” she teases.

Dad laughs. “I _know_ we need.”

Ryan looks at Mom, then Dad, marveling at just how easily his parents can tease him like this, _about_ this—whatever this is, if this even _is_ anything—now. “Oh, alright.” He gets the downloads started on both of their phones and then shifts his attention back to the bubbling pot. “You want any shrimp, Dad?”

“Sure. Thank you.”

Dad’s busy drinking his soup, so Ryan picks up a raw shrimp with his fingers and stares at it. “How do you do this? Why not just buy it unpeeled?”

Mom takes it from him, shaking her head good-naturedly. She removes its shell with one clean, well-practiced pull and plops it into the pot. Then she takes the second shrimp Ryan just picked up to try unpeeling by himself and throws that into the boiling water, too. “You let Ning teach. You can’t do all the work, okay?”

What’s the point of arguing, when he’s fast forgetting why he even wanted to in the first place? “Fine,” Ryan concedes. “I’ll learn from him.”

 

—

**Your GAYZELNUT ROAST Order**

Thanks for shopping with us!

**SUBSCRIPTION PLAN**

| 

WEEKLY SUBSCRIPTION - ONE 10 OZ BAG **x 1**  
  
---|---  
  
**SUBTOTAL**

| 

$5.20 / WEEK  
  
**SHIPPING**

| 

$1.43 / WEEK  
  
**TOTAL**

| 

$6.63 / WEEK  
  
**IS THIS A GIFT?**

| 

YES  
  
**MESSAGE TO RECIPIENT (optional)**

| 

to reese (and nora): thanks for helping me get my head out of my ass. xoxo ryan  
  
—

**You have one unheard message.**

(softly) Hi, bǎobèi. I hope you are sleeping on the plane now. _(smugly)_ Actually, I _know_ you are. _(a sigh)_ I miss you already. All I wanted to do was go back to bed after you left. It still smells like you, like us. I wanted to just lay in bed and think about you. The sounds you make, the way you move, how you look when I touch you…

If I could, I would stay in bed with you forever. I love making you feel good, watching you look at me like I am the only person in the world. When I touch you, your skin gets so hot, and you get this look in your eye—a little angry because I keep teasing you, a lot desperate because you want my hands and mouth back on you, but always so much love.

 _(a quiet laugh)_ I’m sorry I always tease. Part of me is sometimes afraid I am just dreaming about you again, so I take my time because I don’t want to wake up. Another part of me is selfish—I just love seeing how much you want me, hearing you beg for something you know I will give you. Just not when you want.

Then the last part of me is always thinking about how little time we have together, and I know, is selfish, but I want to have more memories for when I miss you. And maybe… maybe I do want to make sure you miss me, too, and won’t look at other men. Though— _(_ very _smugly)_ —I think I have your attention since I first came back to New York, so that part of me has nothing to worry about.

I already miss having you in my arms, bǎobèi. So much easier to kiss you when you are in my lap—your chest, your shoulder, your neck… especially your butterfly. So much easier to touch you everywhere and to, ah, make love to you like that, too. You make so sweet sounds when I’m inside you. Sometimes you call me names because I tease you again, and even those are so sweet. _(a sigh)_ I just… I still can’t believe it sometimes, you know? That you and I are so lucky to have this. _(voice shaking)_ I… I adore you, Ryan. I love you so much.

My break is almost over, and I have to go back to set. I already had three coffees today—two more to go, hm? Call me when you get this, okay? I want to hear your voice. And… _(quietly)_   I think… I think I want to tell Miao about us, if is okay with you. We talk about it when you call me back, okay?

Only six weeks apart, then we are together again, just in time to celebrate our birthdays together. _(softly)_ First time we get older together, first of many, huh? I’m looking forward to it. I love you.

—

_Ning_

Ning boards a plane back home a long, long week after their last embrace, but it still comes too soon. Miao napping beside him, he spends most of it with his face in his hands, eyes closed, torturing himself with memories of Ryan in bed, eager and pliant, responsive and so, so warm under his hands. Then, because he doesn’t deserve nice things, he forces himself to think about how Ryan had still reached out for him, face still so open and vulnerable, despite being confused about why Ning had so coldly accused him of outing him to the magazine, about how quickly he shut him out.

Ryan’s repeated questions about following him to China echo in his ears, and he cringes at himself, at how he barely managed to stay silent on the matter every time, knowing he would’ve said yes if he opened his mouth. But he couldn’t do that to Ryan, couldn’t give him false hope that they could even _hope_ to salvage this mess.

His mind particularly stays on when Ryan asked again and how he just brushed past it to ask him to do the press conference…

Even then, Ryan’s face had stayed open, unlike his own; his had shuttered closed upon seeing the magazine, blood rushing in his ears, hands shaking so badly that he nearly dropped it as soon as he saw the photo.

And yet, Ryan had still helped him, even though—

_Ning doesn't mind me being gay._

_I think it takes someone who’s very happy and confident with himself to be so kind and accepting._

_I hope you’re happy._

He tried his best not to react during the press conference, but he winces now, wishing he could take comfort in the fact that Ryan now hates him. Far easier to cut ties this way—if he hadn’t acted like such an ass and made Ryan do this for him, they could’ve left on better terms, and Ning would’ve been even more tempted than he already was to accept Ryan’s offer and stay with him.

It would be easy to justify it to himself like that, that he pulled all this shit on Ryan to make Ryan hate him. To make their parting easier.

But that would be a lie. He was only thinking about himself, his future. Doing right by his parents, the future of his family. China.

He wishes he had been brave enough to do right by Ryan instead. Not by confirming what was between them—that ship has long sailed—but by just saying what Ryan had had to say by himself because Ning had already distanced himself by then, had left Ryan to fend for himself.

For them.

He did the right thing, he tries to convince himself. It _has_ to have been the right thing, because why would he have done it otherwise?

—

“你爱他,” Miao says quietly. _[“You love him” in Mandarin]_

He can’t look at her. “对不起。” _[“I’m sorry.”]_

—

“啊淼和我分手了,” Ning informs Mother and Father on the phone. _[“Miao and I broke up” in Mandarin]_

“哎呀，太糟糕了！我以为你们俩要结婚了,” Mother despairs. _[“Aiya, that’s too bad! I thought you two were going to get married.”]_

“为什么？” Father asks. _[“Why?”]_

Ning takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. “因为我……” It’s right there on the tip of his tongue, but voicing it would make it real, and he can’t make it real because that would mean losing everything he’s ever known. _[“Because I…”]_

“你……” Father prompts. _[“You…”]_

Ning sighs and thinks about Ryan’s mother, how she had taken one look at him and known. _You want to give them hope._ He presses a hand to his face as his vision starts to blur. “我不……我不喜欢女人。对不起。” _[“I don’t… I don’t like women. I’m sorry.”]_

Not knowing what else to do, he hangs up, but they call back a few minutes later, acting like Ning hadn’t said anything. Like nothing happened.

They don’t talk about it again.

—

They’re finishing up for the day when James’ phone rings. As James answers it, Ning checks that he has all his things, yawning as he does. James hangs up after a few minutes of _I see_ s and _I know_ s and _Thank you_ s.

“Everything okay?” Ning slings his bag over his shoulder. “Are we still getting dinner?”

“Yeah. That was Dex,” James says slowly. “Remember him, from Francesca’s company?”

“What about him?” Ning asks, face impassive. His heartbeat quickens anyway because he always forgets that James and Dex keep in regular contact, that Ryan isn’t actually all that far away like this.

“He was just calling up all his contacts to let everyone know Ryan wasn’t working there anymore. Apparently, he started a company with another fashion designer, a… Theresa Ng? The FashionEASTas. Dex decided to follow him.” James pulls up a website with a rainbow flag that’s clearly still being set up on his phone; half the links are broken, and some of the existing pages are sparse. “It looks like their focus is on LGBT Asians.”

So Ryan actually did it. “Good for them,” Ning says finally, looking away from James’ phone. He’s… happy for him, really. There’s an ache in his chest because he wishes he could’ve been there to see Ryan achieve his dream, but that’s not going to help him keep his composure, so he just swallows it down hard. “We eat now? I’m hungry.”

“Yeah, sure, let’s go,” James agrees, but he doesn’t move for a moment, eyes on his phone. He twists the ring on his finger. “Can I tell you something?”

“Fast, please.” Ning checks his phone for the time. “I last ate almost eight hours ago.”

“Okay.” James takes a deep breath and meets Ning’s eyes. He’s solemn. “First, let me just say this is all just me guessing, but I… I thought I’d just say… ever since we came back from New York, you’ve been different. You’re always by yourself, and while I don’t know what happened between you and Ryan, I thought you were friends, but you don’t seem to have kept in touch.”

“No.” Ning’s sharper than he intends. “So what?”

“So nothing. But—I thought I’d just—I just wanted to—” James takes a deep breath and laughs a little. “Sorry. You’d think it would get easier, but it never does. But I just wanted you to know that while our situations aren’t exactly the same, I feel like I might… have an idea of what you’ve been going through.”

“And what,” Ning asks slowly, forcing himself to not run, “do you think I am going through?”

“I asked him if I could tell you.” James swipes open his phone again and hands it to Ning. “Here.”

“Wh—” For a moment, Ning doesn’t understand what he’s seeing, but no matter how many times he blinks, James’ phone background doesn’t go away. It’s a picture of James and an equally tall, slim Chinese man, both of them in tuxes. They’re kissing while showing off their rings to the camera. “Congratulations,” he says dazedly. “When…”

“Li Qiang and I have been together for six years, married for three.” James takes his phone back, and Ning looks at the floor. “I came here for work and met him at a shoot; he was the photographer. We grew up in places with very different views about gay people, so we would disagree with each other about whether we should meet each other’s families and friends, how open about us we wanted to be, and later on, whether we should even bother getting married in my hometown because our home is here and our marriage wouldn’t even be recognized here anyway.” James huffs out a sheepish laugh. “I have to admit I was an ass about it initially; I had underestimated just how different our experiences were.”

“Difficult,” Ning agrees, heart beating fast because this is the closest he’s ever come to actually coming out to someone—out of everyone else who knows, Miao had already known when she broke up with him, Ryan had found out when he kissed him, and Ryan’s mother had just known. As for his own parents… “Thank you for telling me about him.”

“I hope I didn’t cross a line.” James bites his lip. “I just wanted you to know I’m here for you, if you ever want to talk. And, well, we’ve known each other for two years now. I like to think we’re friends.”

“We are,” Ning assures him. “But I don’t… I don’t think I am ready for that. Not yet.” He fidgets with the strap of his messenger bag. “Do you think he would want to eat with us? Your husband.”

“Oh yeah, I think so! He’s a big fan.” They start walking out of James’ office. “I didn’t tell him anything, I promise. And I won’t say anything to anyone else.”

“You can tell him, if you want. I don’t mind him knowing.” Ning smiles nervously at him. “Or maybe I will, if he comes to dinner today. Either way.”

James knocks his shoulder into Ning’s as they cross the street and grins back. “I’ll ask him, then.”

—

Ning has spent his whole life ignoring his desires, feelings, and needs, which is why it’s been so easy to deal with the aftermath of leaving Ryan for the past few years—no one else knows what exactly happened between them, anyway, so by that logic, nothing did.

He’s aware that that logic is bullshit. No matter how good he is at putting himself behind everything else, he still aches for Ryan’s smile. His laugh. His ~~affection~~ embrace.

There are nights he can’t avoid the loneliness, when all he sees are the absolutely lovely lines of Ryan’s body upon closing his eyes. Not that keeping them open helps. Nothing can keep him from hearing the way Ryan had panted in his ear—Ryan had made light of his own pleas afterward, but _during,_ he had been just as lost in him as Ning had been—or from reliving the heat of that night as Ryan arched his back above him. Those nights, Ning touches himself without finesse because he just wants to get it over with.

Then there are the other nights, when he finally gives in and takes his time, feeling like a failure for being so weak, unable to resist his desire where Ryan is concerned. He brings out his folded copy of _that photo_ from his wallet, unfolds it carefully, and studies Ryan’s shy smile as he sips from the cup for the umpteenth time, torturing himself with how Ryan’s eyes and smile and body are all angled toward him. As he thinks about how he threw the magazine out before retrieving it from the trash to salvage the front cover, he touches a finger to Ryan’s cheek.

All the while, his mind greedily—masochistically—goes through every moment they had together, conjuring up potential ways those moments could have gone instead. Ning could’ve told Ryan to keep it when he dropped his underwear in his hands. They could’ve run away from the shoot with Gus holding hands and kissing as they waited for the cab, giddy with adrenaline. He could’ve easily grabbed Ryan’s hand in the cab as they were driving away, pressed his thigh to Ryan’s, watched Ryan’s eyes widen before Ryan himself moved even closer.

Then he could’ve crowded Ryan up against the wall as soon as they entered his apartment, fervently kissing each other as Ryan pushed Ning’s still open pajama top off his shoulders, past his elbows, to the floor. Ning could’ve grabbed the bottom of Ryan’s shirt and pulled it over his head and flung it to the floor, pressing their bare chests against each other.

Ryan would’ve groaned at the contact, and he would’ve covered his mouth with his again, greedy for every sound coming out of Ryan’s mouth. Ryan would then break out of his embrace, and Ning would panic for a second, before seeing Ryan’s expression turn playful as he started walking backward and unbuttoning his pants. He would strip off the rest of his clothes as he walked, and Ning would follow, all the way to his bedroom.

Ryan would get on the bed first, only ahead by a second, because Ning would crawl on top of him soon after, wrapping Ryan’s legs around his waist, lips on each other’s once again. As they ground against each other, Ryan would use his feet to push at the pajama pants Ning was still wearing, whining into Ning’s mouth when Ning took his hands off Ryan’s skin to shove the pants off himself completely.

They would grind against each other like that for a while, until Ryan flipped them over. Ning’s eyes would widen with surprise before dilating even more with desire as Ryan hovered over him and started rubbing himself off between his thighs. Ryan would gently tease him about the sounds he made, insist he loved them as Ning’s face reddened even more, but from embarrassment this time, and coax some more out of him as he worked himself, encouraging Ning breathily as he took his pleasure from him.

Ning would just lie back, enthralled with how Ryan was losing himself in _him,_ only suddenly realizing how on edge he was when Ryan let out one last grunt before spilling all over Ning’s stomach. Ryan would then sit on top of him, staring at him intently as he tried to get his breath back, before his smile would turn wicked and he would slide his hand into the mess on Ning’s belly and slick Ning up and drop his entire weight on top of him and trap Ning’s cock between them, before he finally came, adding to the stickiness already between them.

After a few minutes trying to get their breath back, they would clean up, go back to bed, and do it all over again until night fell. They would wake up to Ryan’s parents pounding on the door and scurry to put their clothes on. Then Ryan would go out to meet his parents, and like he actually did that day, Ning would stay hiding, worrying about a million things at once: whether Ryan regretted their night together, what would come next, how to stay hidden until his parents left.

But he would inevitably make a sound like he actually had, and Ryan would come back into his bedroom, take his hands in his, and give him a kiss, before bringing him out. Then they would have some mooncake and visit Mama and…

All that would’ve still given them only one more day than how long they’d actually had, and that realization is always what breaks him out of his reverie, what makes him notice and grimace at the stickiness cooling on his belly and his fingers and between his thighs.

He wishes they had more time. If he ever got another chance to be with Ryan again, even just once more, he would draw it out. Even if they didn’t have much time—he would _make_ time, to make love to him the way he deserved. To love him the way he deserved to be loved, the way _Ning_ wanted to love him and for him to be loved. Take his time so he could have more to remember Ryan by than what little he has now. Hold him in his arms as a promise for what more is to come, not as a final farewell.

He still has the photo in his hand. He looks at it one more time, heart quickening at just how in love they both looked, and sighs, thinking about just how easily the flirtation had left his lips, how quickly. He’s so good at ignoring himself nowadays that he hadn’t recognized what it was, _why_ it was, before it came out, so he hadn’t known to keep it to himself.

He had thought he was safe; resisting his attraction to Ryan was getting more and more difficult, but Ryan had expressly said he wasn’t interested in guys like him, so he’d let himself look and look, never expecting that one day, Ryan would be looking back.

Then he folds it back up and puts it away.

—

Ning has one more chance to audition, and then Yingyue is going to look elsewhere for the role of Anhai.

He sighs as he sends off an update to Qiang, who had been the one to tell him about the rumors of her directing《他/她的妻子》in the first place. He doesn’t know what to do.

—

“我们听说你在做一部以同性恋为主题的电影,” Mother says in between sips of her soup. _[“We heard you were doing a gay movie” in Mandarin]_

“我 **想** 做,” Ning corrects. “他们还没有决定。” _[“I_ want _to (do this movie). They haven’t decided (to cast me) yet.”]_

“是不是可以赚很多钱？” Father wants to know, across from her. _[“Is it a lot of money/pay?”]_

Ning shakes his head from his seat at the end of the table, heartbeat starting to quicken. He leaves his half-full bowl of rice untouched, stomach twisting into knots.

“那你为什么要做呢？我觉得这是一个很大的风险,” Father opines, filling his bowl with steamed fish Mother made, just the way he likes. _[“Then why are you doing it? I feel it is a very big risk.”]_

“是因为你想要一个Oscar吗？” Mother piles vegetables and pork into Ning’s bowl, tsking as she does. “吃啊，你太瘦了。” _[“Is it because you want an Oscar? Eat, you are too skinny.”]_

“谢谢，妈,” Ning says quietly, before shrugging. “我只是认为那个故事……很有意思。” _[“Thank you, Mother. I just thought the (movie’s) story was… interesting.”]_

“可能吧,” Father allows. _[“I guess.”]_

“这是你那美国朋友的影响吗？” Mother shakes her head, covering Ning’s hand with hers. “你去美国后变了。你现在比较忙，笑得也少了。他对你不好。交个女朋友会让你再开心起来，或是娶位妻子更好。” _[“Was it because of your American friend’s influence? You’ve changed since going to America. You’re busier now and smile less. He’s not good for you. A girlfriend will make you happy again. Or even better, a wife.”]_

“你不必因为他是你的朋友而去做那样的电影,” Father continues. “你没必要为他那类人出头。” _[“You don’t have to do a movie like that just because he is your friend. You don’t have to advocate for people like him.”]_

As Mother and Father continue chattering to each other about the shamelessness of Americans, Ning forces himself to shovel food into his mouth, even though he’s not hungry. He tastes nothing as he chews, watching Mother and Father carry on with the conversation without any idea of the tension growing inside Ning, until finally, he can’t take it anymore.

He sets his bowl down on the table with an audible _clink._ Mother and Father stop talking and look at him.

“阿宁？” Mother asks tentatively. _[“Ning?”]_

“我爱他,” Ning says hoarsely after several seconds of silence, voice almost a whisper. He stares into his empty bowl. _[“I love him”—pronouns “he” and “she” are pronounced identically, so this could also be translated as “I love her”]_

“一个美国人？” Father asks after another significant pause, setting his bowl down on the table, too. _[“An American?”]_

Ning looks up, shaking. Father looks impassive, keeping his gaze on the table, while Mother bites her lip and looks down at her lap. Father is giving him an out, Ning suddenly realizes. Just like he has every other time Ning got caught.

“ **那个** 美国人,” he says finally, clenching his jaw. “但没关系，他讨厌我。我再也见不到他了。” _[“_ That _American. But it doesn’t matter, he hates me. I will never see him again.”]_

Father’s frown deepens when he finally meets Ning’s eyes, while Mother’s eyes widen, her mouth forming an O, but no one says anything. Ning grips the table, knuckles turning white. His heart is pounding, but his mind is calm, and he’s suddenly exhausted, all his energy sapped from his bones.

Ning stands up, gathering everyone’s bowls for the sink. He doesn’t fail to notice how Mother slightly shrinks back, how Father subtly puffs out his chest, as if to make his stance more threatening. He had expected… he doesn’t know what he expected, actually, considering he never thought he would actually do this; this was always a secret he was going to take to his grave. “我选择这部电影因为它很像我自己的故事，很像其他人的故事。我的美国朋友与这部电影无关。他只是让我意识到我没有什么该觉得羞耻的。” He returns to the dining table after setting the bowls in the sink, before grabbing his coat and putting on his shoes. “我得走了。新年快乐。” _[“I chose to do this movie because it’s a lot like my own story, a lot like other people’s stories. My American friend had nothing to do with it. He only made me realize I have nothing to be ashamed of. I have to go now. Happy (Lunar) New Year.”]_

With that, he leaves, struggling to catch his breath. He has to stop in the hallway several times, leaning against the wall to balance himself, because his legs are too shaky, but he eventually makes it outside. The sky is dark, the streets sparse; everyone is home celebrating with their families.

He swipes open his phone and stares at his contacts, knowing she’s going to hate him. Then he calls Yingyue.

—

“ _‘He just wants you’?_ Did you _have_ to say it like that?” Ning asks as soon as James hangs up, glowering at him. The anger rises in him quickly, and he latches onto it eagerly because it’s better than examining how quickly his heart started beating upon hearing Ryan’s voice for the first time in seven years.

James looks too damn pleased with himself. “It’s true, isn’t it? And anyway, I got him to watch it, so.”

“I only want to work with him again, not… nothing like that,” Ning protests as he yawns. Their flight from Beijing to Hangzhou has been delayed by two hours, and he wishes they announced it sooner. He could’ve spent the time sleeping instead of shifting restlessly in this uncomfortable plastic chair while waiting to board. “It’s a job. Just a job.”

“That’s what I said. You just want him. For the job.”

Ning hides his face in his hands and sighs. “He sounded so angry. I think he hates me,” he says in a small voice, hating how weak he sounds. “Not that I don’t deserve.”

“Nah.” James pats him on the shoulder. “He wouldn’t have reacted like that if he didn’t still care about you.”

Ning laughs disbelievingly. “Sure.”

“He sounded hurt, not angry,” James says gently.

“Still. Seven years is long time. A lot has changed.”

James shakes his head. “Not this, I think.”

 _A lifetime to cool down._ Ning hopes it’s still true.

—

By the time they get to Hangzhou, they’re hours behind schedule, so they push all the afternoon interviews to tomorrow. Between their first morning interview, which turned into a working lunch, and the two more following it, Ning is dead on his feet by late afternoon. Fortunately, that’s when James announces everyone’s done for the day, and Ning’s about to head back to the hotel and just sleep when Yingyue comes over to tell him about the crew’s plan to do some sightseeing.

It’s his first time visiting Hangzhou, so he agrees, resigning himself to five cups of coffee tomorrow morning. During their informal poll, Ning can’t decide between visiting the Lingyin Temple and the West Lake, so the former wins out. He barely remembers the trek to the temple, only becoming alert when he enters, marveling at its beauty and timelessness.

Their guide’s warning about wishes that come true warranting a return visit to the temple fresh in Ning’s mind, he bows and breathes in the incense. Heart aching with longing, his thoughts fill with Ryan’s face, his shy but so clearly infatuated smile, the warmth of his embrace. He doesn’t bother articulating a wish; he’s always at a loss for words when it comes to Ryan.

They leave Hangzhou two days later, and he’s sorry to go. He already knows he won’t be coming back.

—

“你什么时候去美国？” Mother asks, as Ning helps her place the dishes on the table. _[“When are you going to America?” in Mandarin]_

“纽约？” Father pipes up. Ning looks at them both quickly as they take their seats, trying to gauge what they’re thinking, but he has no clue; they’ve been unreadable to him since he first brought up Ryan three years ago, and this is the first time since then that Ryan has come up again (and brought up by his parents, nevertheless). But they still insist he be present for holiday celebrations, so that must count for something, right? _[“New York?”]_

“我还不知道，我要先看看他怎么说,” Ning replies. No need to specify who _he_ is. _[“I still don’t know, I have to see what he says first.”]_

“你觉得他会—” Mother taps her chopsticks against her bowl nervously. “对不起，你可能已经够担心的了。” _[“Do you think he’ll_ — _Sorry, you’re probably worrying enough already.”]_

“有一点儿,” Ning admits, offering up a small smile of his own. _[“A little.”]_

“我们看到了他的照片，他很帅,” she observes in between bites of dumpling. _[“We saw a picture of him, he’s very handsome.”]_

“是啊，他是,” Ning agrees, after a moment. His heart races as he struggles to maintain a grip on his chopsticks because his hand is suddenly sweaty. “他姓傅的，师傅的傅，叫Ryan.” _[“Yeah, he is. His surname is Fu (Fu from the word for ‘master worker’), first name Ryan.”]_

“Ryan,” Father tries out. Ning jolts despite himself, only realizing just now how surreal the moment is. The fact that he’s having dinner with his parents on Lunar New Year, talking about his—about Ryan—“他是华侨吗?” _[“He’s Chinese diaspora/overseas Chinese?”]_

Ning nods. “他在纽约出生长大。他的父母说广东话，但他什么中文都不懂。” _[“He was born and raised in New York. His parents speak Cantonese, but he doesn’t know any Chinese at all.”]_

“哎呀,” Mother clucks disapprovingly. “至少他还是华人。” _[“Aiya, at least he’s still Chinese.”]_

“至少,” Father agrees. _[“At least.”]_

All three of them exchange tentative smiles, eating in silence for a few minutes. Ning helps himself to more dumplings and noodles, appetite renewed.

“他的父母知道他……?” Father delicately asks, breaking the silence. At Ning’s nod, he continues, “他们有什么想法呢？” _[“Do his parents know he… What do they think, then?”]_

“一开始，他们有一年没有和他说过话，但后来他们慢慢接受了他。现在，已经没问题了。” _[“At the beginning, they didn’t speak to him for a year, but then they slowly accepted him. Now, it’s not an issue.”]_

Both of his parents nod at that and are quiet again, refocusing on the food.

Ning sets down his bowl and takes a deep breath. Summoning all of his courage, he says, “他妈妈一见到我就知道了。当时，我们没有……我们还只是朋友，所以我不知道她是怎么知道的。她也知道你们不知道，也明白为什么我没有告诉你。因为我不想让你们失望。” He looks away, folding his hands in his lap. “但我不能继续说谎下去。我不知道我是否会有男朋友，但我不想再欺骗自己或其他女人了。” _[“His mother knew (about me) as soon as she saw me. At the time, we weren’t… we were still just friends, so I don’t know how she knew. She also knew you didn’t know (about me) and understood why I hadn’t told you. Because I wanted to give you hope. But I can’t keep lying. I don’t know if I’ll ever have a boyfriend, but I don’t want to lie to myself or other women anymore.”]_

“他妈妈人真的很好,” Father says quietly after a moment. Ning nods for what feels like the hundredth time today. _[“His mother is truly kind-hearted.”]_

“但你爱Ryan,” Mother protests gently, covering his hand with hers. “我们只是希望你快乐。不要放弃啊。” _[“But you love Ryan. We just want you to be happy. Don’t give up yet.”]_

Ning shakes his head. “我做了很多对不起他的事。如果他肯让我道歉，那就已经很好了。” _[“I wronged him a lot. I’ll already be happy if he lets me apologize.”]_

Mother shifts in her seat. Decisively, she says, “那如果你看到他，你应该给他做一些饺子。你还记得吗？” _[“Well, if you get to see him, you should make him some dumplings. Do you still remember how?”]_

“其实，他不太喜欢吃中国菜。” He laughs a little at Mother and Father’s dismay. _[“Actually, he doesn’t really like eating Chinese food.”]_

“哎呀，你真是爱上了一个非常麻烦的人！” Father exclaims, but they’re all smiling. _[“Aiya, you sure fell in love with a troublesome person!”]_

—

James snorts as he delivers the news, smugly watching as Ning falls back into his chair, stunned. “How do you explain him asking about your girlfriend, then?”

—

For the umpteenth time that day, Ning checks the clock. 2:30 p.m. Five hours until he gets to lay eyes on Ryan for the first time in seven years. Five hours until Ryan will be close enough to touch.

Five hours until he _can’t._

Ning wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, sweating more because of his anxiety than the effort required for making dumplings. He had had a fitful nap on the plane before agonizing over what to buy at the closest Chinese supermarket to his hotel for two hours, finally checking into his suite at noon. Running purely on anxiety and adrenaline, he had skipped lunch to make dumplings, taking care to go easy on the scallion and cilantro, just in case Ryan was a fan of neither.

A tiny part of him points out Ryan hates Chinese food, while another part of him argues Ryan always accepted food from him—never _bit_ him, which is… extremely distracting, to say the least, because he doesn’t know what it means.

He makes a little over fifty dumplings, completely aware it’s overkill, before finally forcing himself to shower off all the flour and mashed raw pork and airport. He then changes into pajamas and slips into bed because while his body clock is extremely confused, it does know he really needs some sleep. He sets an alarm for 7 p.m., which should give him enough time to cook everything right before Ryan arrives.

Two hours.

—

Ning wakes up bleary-eyed and disoriented, before scrambling out of bed to the kitchen. He’s so nervous that he nearly drops the plate of dumplings as he brings it over to the dining table in the living room. He finishes stir-frying vegetables with five minutes to spare and leaves that on the table, too, before sitting on the couch and gripping a cushion as he watches the clock on his phone.

Two minutes. Two minutes, and then Ryan will officially be back in his life for the next few weeks. He’s ready.

—

Ryan’s late.

Ning startles awake when the suite’s landline rings, the receptionist notifying him of a visitor. As soon as he hangs up, he grabs the plates of food and runs into the kitchen, tossing the dumplings and vegetables back into the pan to reheat. His neck aches from falling asleep on the couch, but he ignores the discomfort, turning off the stove and keeping the pan covered with the lid to let the food stew in the heat a little longer.

Belatedly realizing he never changed out of his clothes, he walks to the door with trepidation—it can’t take _that_ long for Ryan to get up here, right? So why hasn’t he rung the bell yet? Is he having second thoughts?

Did he leave?

Opening the door with the intent to peer into the hallway, he’s suddenly met with knuckles rapping lightly on his chest.

Ryan’s. The touch sends a little jolt through his whole body.

Neither of them says anything for a moment.

Ning lets him in on auto-pilot, attention immediately drawn to Ryan’s slightly longer hair, his slightly awkward but still beautiful smile, his now bulkier body. His eyes greedily devour the lines of Ryan’s form as he catalogues the differences between now and seven years ago, and it’s with considerable force that he’s finally able to tear his eyes away.

Ryan is more beautiful than ever. He has no idea how he’s going to get through the next few weeks.

—

Ryan has changed. Not much, but enough to make Ning’s heart hurt, to make him wish he had been there to see those changes, to make him mourn all that time apart yet again. Ryan leaves after Ning calls him a cab, and he walks him to the door, consciously keeping himself at least a foot away from Ryan at all times, the split in his heart growing wider and wider the farther Ryan gets from him, even though they’ll be seeing each other again on Monday.

As soon as he closes the door, Ryan’s soft smile as he says goodbye the only thing in his mind, Ning sinks to the floor and unceremoniously sticks a hand in his pants, gasping as he thinks about the warmth of Ryan’s hand when he’d impulsively reached out to grab it earlier.

Helpless to stop it, his mind floods with images of how the night could’ve progressed instead. He could‘ve stood up as he grabbed Ryan’s hand, walked around the table, and kissed him. Or maybe he could’ve just kissed Ryan as soon as he opened the door. Just pulled Ryan in closer right when Ryan knocked on his chest, their lips meeting before even saying hello.

Ning would’ve kissed him eagerly, wanting to kiss away the sadness in Ryan’s eyes, to kiss his apologies into Ryan’s mouth, all over his skin. Wrapped Ryan’s legs around his waist and brought him to his bed, forgoing dinner completely. He would’ve let Ryan rip his top off, not caring at all as the buttons fell to the floor, before helping Ryan out of his own clothes, never breaking the kiss.

He gets as far as imagining Ryan’s absolutely brilliant smile upon hearing Ning whisper _I love you_ into his shoulder as they grind against each other before he’s spilling inside his pants, breathing heavily.

Panting as he tries to get his breath back, he slumps against the door and groans. Ryan has only grown lovelier since he last saw him, and he doesn’t know how he’s going to be able to leave him a second time.

—

“Do you have any ideas for how you want to plan for the future, in terms of press matters?” James asks. It’s 2 a.m. for him, and Ning still doesn’t know how he deals with the twelve-hour difference part of his job. “I’m flying in for the screening next week, don’t forget.”

“About what?” Ning yawns. He’s still jet-lagged. “Send me your flight details, I will call you taxi.”

“With Ryan.”

Ning massages his temples. “There’s nothing to plan. We are just friends.”

—

All around him, everyone’s setting up for the next shoot, so Ning takes this chance to sneak another look at Ryan, captivated by the light in Ryan’s eyes as he brainstorms with Annie, complete with broad, sweeping gestures. Dex weaves in and out of the scene, talking to a tablet in his hands, before he finally exits the bustle completely, walking in Ning’s direction.

To Ning’s surprise, Dex hands his tablet off to him. “Reese wants to talk to you,” Dex says, breaking Ning out of his thoughts. “She can’t leave the house right now, so we sometimes FaceTime her to show her what we’ve been working on.”

Still distracted by Ryan’s hands, Ning takes it. On the screen, a petite woman with hair dyed various shades of blues and purples waves at him. “Hello? Theresa?”

“Hi! Yeah, it’s just Reese. Theresa’s my former confused self, who didn’t know she was super gay,” Reese grins. “How are you? Settling in okay?”

“Yeah, I still have some jet lag, but I’m excited. Also, congratulations on your new baby! How old now?”

“Almost two weeks. I wish I could be there and meet you in person, but I can’t leave the house yet.” She flips her screen to show Sky sleeping in their bassinet, before flipping back. “I saw _The Same Wife_ with my parents a few weeks ago, and we all absolutely _loved_ it.”

“Thank you for taking time to watch, I know you have been busy with baby things,” Ning says, touched. “I also want to thank you so much for convincing Ryan to work with me again. Really. This movie has been really special, and now even more special with him involved. If you hadn’t—”

“I _cried_ while watching it. Even though I’ve lived here for most of my life, it hit me _so_ hard, you have no idea. Like, even my _grandma_ loved it, and she still harbors hopes that Ryan and I will get together.”

“Even though you already married and now have a baby with your wife?” Ning asks after a moment because he’s still trying to process the rest of what Reese is saying.

Reese rolls her eyes. “It’s ridiculous. But she actually apologized to me after watching it, and my entire family is so proud of you for all the love and care you put into it. Like, I think my heart broke at least a dozen times for Anhui—”

“It’s An _hai,_ actually,” Ryan butts in, leaning into Ning as he waves to Reese. Ning didn’t see him coming over (or him watching Ning, completely smitten, Dex will note much, much later). “Didn’t we agree on a FaceTime ban until Sky’s at _least_ two weeks old?”

“Do you actually think you can stop her?” Nora walks into the frame and gives Reese a kiss on the cheek. Ning feels a tiny pang of jealousy at the easy affection, at the way Reese automatically turned to accept the kiss. “Hi, Ning! I also loved your movie!”

“Anhai, sorry,” Reese corrects herself. “Look, Sky’s twelve days old now. Round up, and what do you get? Two weeks.”

“I understand now,” Ning says to Ryan. “You are like this, always working, because you _both_ are like this, so together, you just keep working all the time, never stop.”

“You’re one to talk,” Ryan retorts. “ _You’re_ the one who wouldn’t say anything until I heard your stomach growling.”

“And then I cook for you,” Ning scoffs. “What’s your point?”

“I,” Ryan starts to say, before Annie calls his name. “Sorry, gotta go. Talk to you later, Reese and Nora! Give Sky a kiss for me!”

Ning watches him go. Then, remembering himself, he looks down at the screen to see Reese and Nora smirking at him knowingly. He feels his face flush. “What were we talking about?”

“How proud we are of your work in this movie,” Reese replies, now serious. “Honestly, I’ve been waiting for a movie like this for a really long time. I feel like my parents and I communicate better now because they’ve seen firsthand what life in the closet can look like, especially in an environment they’re really familiar with.”

“Even though _my_ family didn’t understand much of it—they read English too slowly to be able to read the subtitles—they also connected deeply to it,” Nora adds. “I really, really love it.”

“Yeah, I have a lot of feelings about it, but the only one I know how to articulate is that I want to give each and every one of you a hug,” Reese says.

“Thank you.” Ning’s eyes are suddenly damp. “I guess I think so much about getting people to see the movie that I forgot about the people _actually_ watching it part.”

Reese laughs, not unkindly. “I’ll say.”

“If only you can leave house, because I have a screening later this week,” Ning sighs wistfully. “Nora, you invited, too.”

“You do? I really want to come to that—watching the DVD can _not_ compare to watching it on the big screen.” Decisively, Reese continues, “You know what, I _will_ go. I’ll go because I want to give you a hug, and also, honestly, I’m getting a little sick of being cooped up. These traditions are annoying.” She pauses, giving him a guilty glance. “Sorry. It’s the American in me.”

Ning throws his hands up in defense. “I’m not judging. I would love for you to come.”

Nora sighs. “I suppose this means I’m not allowed to drive?” In the background, Sky starts crying. “Ooh, baby, don’t worry, I’m coming!”

“Hell no, Nora,” Reese says with glee. She walks over to Sky and watches Nora pick them up and rock them. Once Sky’s quiet again, Reese refocuses on him. “Listen, Ning. I just want you to know that while I haven’t officially met you yet, I _see_ you. I see and appreciate what you’ve been doing for Ryan, and I’m sorry he’s being such a doofus, but don’t give up on him, okay? He just needs a little time to get his head out of his ass.”

Ning’s throat goes dry. “I could never,” he says hoarsely, honestly.

Reese smiles gently at him. “Good.”

—

_Stay._

_I shouldn’t._

Ning’s heartbeat quickens when Ryan wraps his arms around his middle, and he hugs him back almost immediately, greedily taking in Ryan’s warmth, his touch, his scent. He had been too worried about Ryan not wanting him back to enjoy it when they first embraced in Ryan’s office, but now, he tightens his arms around him, leaning his forehead against Ryan’s shoulder as he breathes him in, breathes _home_ in.

They let go of each other a few moments later, standing only a few inches apart, looking at each other. Looking back. Ryan’s eyes are shining, and Ning already wants him back in his arms, to heal his heartache, but he knows Ryan needs to figure it out on his own, so he just offers Ryan a smile and bids him goodnight.

—

“Ning,” James greets as Ning approaches, “you going to tell me more about what you meant by ‘play by ear’?”

“I don’t know,” Ning replies honestly, shrugging his shoulders.

“Is there…” James’s eyes dart past him, to where Ning knows Ryan’s sitting. “Should we start talking about… putting something… in place?”

“There’s nothing to put.”

James raises an eyebrow.

“Maybe… maybe later,” Ning allows, turning red, “but not now.” He looks at his phone. “We start yet?”

“Soon.” James pats him on the back as he starts walking over to Ryan, who’s engrossed in the press kit. “I’ll follow your lead later, yeah?”

—

_I know I have been._

They run out of the theater holding hands, not stopping until they’re a street away and only realizing they’re still holding hands when they’re entering the taxi. Once inside, Ning leans his head against the window, watching the city pass them by.

Ning is so focused on criticizing every word that came out of his mouth that it takes him a moment to realize Ryan has clasped their hands together again. He looks up to see Ryan watching him, his eyes dark. Heart in his throat, he watches Ryan lean more comfortably against the seat and give his arm a gentle tug before realizing Ryan wants him closer.

He sits up and shifts over, toward the middle of the backseat. Ryan smiles gently at him, and he smiles back shyly, heart fluttering. With no small amount of trepidation, Ning slowly rests his head on Ryan’s shoulder. When Ryan detaches his hand from Ning’s, he almost immediately lifts his head right back up to get away, cursing himself for being too forward.

Before Ning can move away, though, Ryan tucks Ning under his arm and clasps Ning’s hand to his again, with his other hand this time. Ning lifts his head to look at Ryan and finds Ryan looking back.

—

After Auntie sends Ryan and Uncle off to the kitchen, Ning ties off another zòngzi. “Auntie,” he says tentatively. “I have an idea for Ryan’s present. Will you help me?”

“Of course. You love him,” Auntie replies. Ning has known that to be true for years now, but hearing it from Auntie with such conviction floors him anyway.

He nods, shy. “I do.”

“So tell me.”

As he outlines his plan, they continue making zòngzi, Auntie listening intently.

He leans back when he’s done. “What do you think?” When she doesn’t answer, he says hastily, suddenly doubting himself, “Maybe too much. I move too fast.”

Auntie raises a hand to stop him. “I just so happy see you two so happy. To find each other again is yuánfèn (缘分), how can be too much or too fast?” When she sees his look of surprise, she grins. “I learn Mandarin now, see?” _[“Fate” in Mandarin]_

“Auntie, I am very happy to see Ryan again, but also you too. I missed you. When I tell parents about… about me, I think about what you say, and it comfort me many nights I can’t sleep. It mean so much to me to have someone like you, a mother, know the truth about me and accept.” Ning’s face is completely red. “Thank you.”

Auntie wipes the corner of her eye with her wrist. “How you thank when nothing to thank, hm? 你真喺個傻仔，Ning.” She then finishes up making another zòngzi. “You know how I know about you?” _[“You really are a silly boy” in Cantonese]_

Ning shakes his head.

“I recognize from Ryan in beginning,” she admits quietly, looking away. “I make mistake with one son already, I not do same for second.”

“Second, Auntie?” Ning looks at her, startled.

Auntie snorts. “You think you not? 傻仔。”

“傻仔？” Ning asks, as he reaches over to hug her.

When Auntie pulls back, her eyes are twinkling. “If you not know, need learn Cantonese faster, hm?”

—

“和他在一起开心吗？” Mother asks on the phone. _[“Does he make you happy?” in Mandarin]_

Ning nods, before remembering she can’t see him. “很开心,” he says softly. _[“Very happy.”]_

“你什么时候带他来见我们？” Father interjects. _[“When will you bring him to meet us?”]_

“让我先和他谈谈他的日程安排。他也想和你们见面,” Ning replies, right when Ryan enters the kitchen and wraps his arms around him. He leans back into him. _[“Let me talk to him about his schedule first. He wants to meet you, too.”]_

“快点吧，我担心机票会变得很贵,” Father advises. Then, more quietly, “我们并不完全明白，但如果你很开心，我们也会很开心。” _[“Hurry up, though; I worry airplane tickets will become expensive. We don’t completely get it, but if you’re happy, then we are also happy.”]_

Ning clears his throat, letting out a sigh and melting into Ryan’s body. “好吧，好吧，再见。” Then he hangs up, feeling lighter than he has in years. _[“Okay, okay, bye.”]_

—

“I think,” Ning says to James after a beat, hand touching the outline of the bandage covering the newly inked tattoo on his left ear, as they wait for the connecting flight that will take them from Minneapolis to San Francisco, “there may be something to plan for.”

James’ smile is soft but brilliant. “Okay. Let’s talk about it.”

—

“Wait, I have just one more thing to show you.” Ryan tugs at Ning’s arm as Ning carries him to their bedroom. “Look around. See anything new?”

Cufflinks still in a closed palm, Ning stops in the middle of the living room, taking a second to bask in the warmth of Ryan’s arms around his neck. His eyes are immediately drawn to Ryan’s two walls of framed covers. “You add more? Before only one wall full, now both.”

Ryan cocks his head at him, smiling. “Anything else?”

Ning looks around again, taking note of the splash of color, the way the subjects all exude such dynamic fluidity, how often certain magazines crop up again and again— _Mais Oui_ and _Culture Chic_ and _GQ_ and _Vanity Fair_ and _GAYSIAN AMERICA,_ and some covers in other languages, besides. Then he looks at the plant, expecting to find his old _Culture Chic_ cover hiding behind it.

Wait.

“You take me off your wall, hm? Is this your way of breaking up with me?”

Ryan rolls his eyes and hits him lightly on the chest. “You think you’re _so_ funny. _Why_ do I want to spend the rest of my life with you again?”

Ning kisses him right where his neck meets his shoulder, before looking at the wall again. “I’m sorry, bǎobèi. Forgive me?” he asks absentmindedly, as he spots a familiar shade of blue.

And then a familiar gazebo.

“Wha—” Ning’s jaw drops, and his arms slacken, which is when Ryan’s own tighten.

“Honey, if you drop me—I _swear,_ you are on _thin fucking ice,_ ” Ryan yelps.

“Sorry, sorry!” Ning exclaims, remembering himself, as he readjusts his hold and walks closer. He doesn’t know how he didn’t notice sooner—there he is, smack-dab in the middle of the wall, right above the couch. Both of his _Culture Chic_ covers are side by side, at eye-level, so that they’re the first things the eye sees upon entering the living room. His breath catches, and he tightens his arms around Ryan as he starts trembling. “My bǎobèi.”

Ryan grins widely. “You like it? I was watching your movies while setting it all up.”

“I _love_ it. I love _you._ ” Ning crushes his lips against Ryan’s, and Ryan kisses him back with the same hunger, tangling his hands in Ning’s hair. Helplessly, desperately, he asks, “How do you _exist?_ ”

“Funny, I always ask myself the same thing about _you._ ” Ryan wiggles in his arms, eyes laden with intent. He nips at Ning’s bottom lip. “You gonna take me to bed, or what?”

Ning hefts Ryan more securely in his arms, laughing at Ryan’s undignified squawk, and then they’re off.

—

**You have one unheard message.**

Hi, honey. Don’t listen to this until you’re alone. And have some time on your hands. I don’t want to sound too—sorry—cocky, but— _(a moan)_

Sorry about that. _(a laugh)_ Can’t, uh, think straight—that was the last pun, I promise. Just, ah, finally got new batteries for Toy Ning, but anyway—

 _(softly)_ I’ve been thinking about you, baby. How you always make me feel so good, how I feel your love every time you touch me, how you always make me forget everything but you. _(a sigh)_ I was watching your action movie again, and I just have to know—was it in your contract that you had to lose your shirt, like, every fifteen minutes or something?

Doesn’t matter. I was thinking about how buff you are in that one, how strong. I love how you can pick me up like I weigh nothing. I love being taken care of by you. I love how you love me, even though I think you’re out to kill me, sometimes. Like that time you made me come five times in two days. I’m thinking about the third time, you remember?

You bent me in half and ate me out so good I was crying. You wouldn’t let me touch myself, just held my wrists together above my head with one hand and used the other to keep the rest of me where you wanted me. You made a right mess out of me while I begged you to let me come, but you were being mean and ignored me. _(sulkily)_ Wouldn’t even let me touch you.

And you know how much I love touching you. God, baby, I love how you feel under my hands. So warm, so sensitive. I love seeing you shiver because of me, watching you forget yourself and lose control.

 _(gasping)_ I’m going to get you back for that, just you wait. Gonna just lay you out in front of me and get my tongue inside you until you’re absolutely _drenched,_ Ning. Have you ever come without touching your cock, honey? _(a low chuckle)_ I’d love to help you try. I’d lick you open for me, until you were begging to get fucked. Tease you even more until your skin’s hot all over. I’d be mean back, wouldn’t touch you there until I was good and ready.

Then I’d turn you over onto your back and grab your legs to pull you closer, into my lap, and finally get inside you, inch by inch. I’d be a real sweetheart, taking my time, but you’d be completely gone by then, wouldn’t care for romance _at all,_ always telling me to hurry up. _(a moan, several seconds of silence)_ Then I’d—I’d. I’d kiss you while taking care not to come anywhere near your dick. Maybe I’d get, uh, distracted, thinking about—about your abs and want to lick them. I’d suck your nipples, too, make them nice and wet. Meanwhile, you’d be too far gone to notice. You’d just continue holding onto me as I fucked you harder and harder and kissed every part of you I could reach.

You’d be so hot and tight inside that I’d never want to leave. And I’d keep going faster and faster until—until I got to see you come. _(panting, voice cracking, a whimper)_ I love you, Ning. _(voice muffled)_ I can’t wait for you to come back to me.

 _(sleepily)_ Good night, honey. Until next time.

—

Ning popped into the shower as soon as they got home from dinner with Ryan’s parents to celebrate both his and Ryan’s birthdays, so it’s Ryan’s turn now, and he’s taking his sweet time.

From the bedroom, Ning can hear the upbeat pop Ryan likes to listen to. He rubs his hair with a towel as he hums along, tapping his fingers to the beat on his pajama pants, the script his agent sent over in his lap. It’s December now, so it’s cold, but he ignores the urge to grab a shirt; cuddling with Ryan will warm him up soon enough anyway.

Ryan enters the bedroom a few minutes later in boxers and the pajama top matching Ning’s pants, still dancing as he makes his way over to the nightstand for his lotion. Ning sets the script down by the lamp, content to just sit there and watch Ryan move his hips. Once Ryan finishes moisturizing, he comes over and grabs Ning’s hands. “Come on, get up, honey.”

Ning shakes his head. “I rather watch you.”

“But it’s so fun! Don’t you want to dance with me?”

“I’m so bad at it,” Ning protests, even as he lets Ryan pull him up. At Ryan’s prodding, he starts shuffling his feet, moving his body awkwardly.

“None of that now,” Ryan admonishes. “Where’s that confident, suave, sexy heartthrob who kissed me at Phoenix, hm? Or the one who pulled me into his strong arms in my office, and then I nearly _swooned?_ ” Ryan asks, fanning himself.

Ning blushes, looking away. “ _That_ guy was never there. I was only thinking, Ryan looks so happy when he is dancing. I want to make him happy. Therefore, I should give him opportunity to dance, and then he will be happy.”

“I was happy dancing with _you,_ ” Ryan corrects him, pressing their hips together. “It’s all in your confidence. If you act like you know what you’re doing and feel it, too, everybody else will think you’re a good dancer.”

“So you say you’re not actually good dancer, you just know how to look confident?”

“What do _you_ think?”

“That you dance great. And also look like you’re having a good time.”

“I _am_ having a good time. Because I’m just thinking about moving in a way that makes me feel good and not thinking about other people. It’s just you and me here, and you already _know_ I find you sexy,” Ryan points out, eyes trailing down Ning’s chest. “Let’s have a dance-off.”

“A what?”

“A dance-off! Let’s dance to see who can get the other hot and ready faster, okay?” Ryan gives him a kiss. “I mean, you really don’t have to worry about me. I find everything you do hot.”

Ning snorts. “I know.”

Ryan presses his pelvis even more into Ning, and Ning’s throat goes dry. “See? Even when you drag me, I get like that. It’s quite annoying,” Ryan says dryly. He goes over to his phone and switches to a different song, one with a sultry beat and husky melody. “Let’s dance!”

Ning gives him one more kiss and places his hands on Ryan’s hips. “I’ll learn from you,” he promises.

* * *

_SPECIAL ISSUE_

_20 YEARS OF GAYSIAN AMERICA_

JUNE 2035

_[the front cover depicts Ryan and Ning recreating the Crazy Rich Asians movie poster they did for their engagement photos, with Ning in a gray blazer as Nick and Ryan in a pink flower-patterned shirt as Rachel; the background depicts butterflies, a crab, and a panda]_

_Happy Fathers’ Day!_

_Love is always in style, Part 2  
Our conversasian with the FashionEASTas continues, this time with Ryan Manyong Fu-Qi and husband Xiaoning Fu-Qi_

_Photograph: Qiang Li_

—

_NOTE: To celebrate our publicasian’s two decades of success, we are revisiting dear friends and family in our community who gave us the love and support that have allowed us to flourish. This Fathers’ Day feature is a continuasian of our special three-part issue about one of our biggest supporters, the FashionEASTas. This issue focuses on original FashionEASTas co-founder Ryan Manyong Fu-Qi and his husband, the versatile actor Xiaoning Fu-Qi, who have graciously given us the privilege of telling their story. The Fu-Qis are also known for founding the Rainbow Fortune House (RFH) in 2029, the Lower East Side-based nonprofit center for LGBT individuals with immigrant families._

_Part 1 featured original FashionEASTas co-founder Theresa “Reese” Nguyen-Ng and her wife Nora Nguyen-Ng last month for Mothers’ Day. Formerly a model, Nora is now executive director of the RFH. Part 3 will feature veteran FashionEASTa-turned-co-president Elle Kim-Singh and her fiancée Hui Wen Jia (RFH’s assistant executive director) for next month’s feature on interfaith weddings._

—

_[the top half of the left page contains a blown-up photo of Ning kissing Ryan’s right ear as Ryan laughs; Ning wears an abstractly patterned purple shirt with a black blazer, while Ryan wears a lightly striped lavender shirt, his own black blazer draped over his shoulder]_

**‘COMMUNIGAYSIAN IS KEY’: Ryan and Ning talk life—  
with each other, at home, and in the public eye**

BY **LISA CHUA-MERCADO** | PHOTOGRAPHS BY **ANNIE ODUYA-WATANABE** | STYLED BY **RYAN FU-QI**

_American-borrow Chinese._

_It’s a styling job, not a history lesson._

_We are fire and water. We do not mix._

Ryan and Ning are reminiscing about their first meeting over a decade ago as they, our photographer Annie, and I get settled into Rainbow Fortune House assistant executive director Jia Hui Wen’s spacious, well-lit office. We’ve just finished gorging ourselves on the delectable array of dishes the RFH community brought for their annual Lunar New Year potluck, and we’re all feeling it. I myself plop down into a cushy chair with a groan.

Across from me, as Ning pulls Ryan into his lap, Ning says triumphantly, “I win. I say most ironic thing that later come back to bite me.”

Ryan scoffs. “Nope.”

Ning raises an eyebrow. “How?”

As they continue going back and forth, I lean back in my chair and look at the couple sitting across from me. Their attire is decidedly business casual and carefully coordinated, with Ning in purple and Ryan in lavender, the blazers I saw them wearing earlier nowhere to be seen. His long hair flying everywhere as he tries to break free of Ning’s hold, Ryan laughs while rolling up his sleeves but fails on both counts because Ning just tightens one arm around Ryan’s waist and uses his free hand to do up Ryan’s sleeves himself. Annie snaps a picture right as Ning kisses Ryan’s ear, both his hands on Ryan’s sleeve now that he knows Ryan isn’t going anywhere, and it’s this kind of casual affection they’re always seen displaying that continues to rivet Twitter’s (and Gaysian Twitter’s, in particular) attention to this day.

Ryan and Ning have been contributors to and friends of _GAYSIAN AMERICA_ for years; the FashionEASTas style at least one of our covers every year, and Ning brings his famous homemade dumplings every time he visits our crew. While Ryan has graced our front cover twice and Ning once, this interview will be their first _ever_ as a married couple, and that makes it a little daunting, to be honest. Especially when you consider the fact that they came out as a couple _eleven years ago._

In case you need a refresher on the gaysian power couple dominating today’s front covers, Ryan and Ning Fu-Qi are among the many celebrity activists leading the charge for better LGBT representasian, in terms of both quantity and quality. Ryan is a stylist with a star-studded list of clients you’ll instantly recognize, like actress Claire Hsu-Silva, retired model Nora Nguyen-Ng, and of course, his own husband Ning (that’s how they met). Ning is an acclaimed actor who first captured the hearts of critics and fans alike playing the brooding protagonist in the wartime drama _Springtime in Nanking_ (2015), going on to make a name for himself as one of China’s leading men with a talent for playing stoic, wearily resolute heroes. Then Ning stunned the world with what he would later describe as the practically autobiographical gay romance film _The Same Wife_ (2022), which sparked a new era in both his acting career and film in general—and more importantly, as he always interjects, brought Ryan back into his life, and for good.

“If I did, I wouldn’t ask.” Ning turns to Annie and me. “Is okay if we stay like this?”

Ryan rolls his eyes but smiles as he makes himself comfortable on Ning’s lap.

I shrug, as does Annie. “Go ahead,” I say.

“I’m used to it,” Annie replies. “I’ll get a shot of Ning’s face eventually.”

“Sorry,” Ryan apologizes as Ning presses a kiss to his ear, “he’s always hiding his face like this.”

“Not hiding,” Ning laughs, a smitten smile on his face. It’s easy to see why he continues to receive so many marriage proposals on the daily from his fans, despite being married to Ryan for the past ten years; he has angular cheekbones and a strong jawline, and his smile tugs at your heartstrings with his earnestness, his sincerity. Even as he’s addressing me and Annie, Ning’s focus is on Ryan, open and soft. “Just staying close.”

“He has so many good angles, but always refuses to cooperate,” Ryan sighs in dismay, looking back at him with that same softness. His own good looks—those perfect cheekbones, that silky long hair, his disarming smile—have netted him a fair amount of marriage proposals, too; he’s been especially popular among lesbians ever since his best friend and co-founder of the FashionEASTas brought their attention to his old Lesbian Haircut. “Photographers hate him.”

“Are you going to tell me why you win or not?” Ning asks impatiently. I want to know, too.

“Fine. I win because _I might be gay, but I have absolutely no interest in you whatsoever if that’s what you’re worried about._ ” Ryan folds his arms as Ning’s soft smile turns into a smirk, and I just have to take a second to marvel at how easily they go back and forth like this, one-upping each other by using what their past selves said—against _themselves._

“ _‘Worried’_ is not what I would say.”

“How would you put it, then?” I ask curiously, as they exchange soft smiles with each other, though there’s a slight seriousness to them now.

“Insulted. Sad.” Ning then looks at me, his reply so quiet that I almost miss it over the sound of Annie’s camera going off. “Disappointed.”

—

**AN INAUSPICIOUS BEGINNING: THE EARLY GAYS**

Depending on who you ask, the story of how Ryan and Ning got together is either unremarkable, because as a Chinese American man from NYC and a Chinese man from Beijing, respectively, they are indistinguishable (racist homophobes)— _or_ incredibly heartwarming, because of how they make it work, despite their experiences as individuals of Chinese descent (initially) being worlds apart (everyone else).

As for how they think about it themselves?

 **“** Honestly? After all these years together… I’d say our experiences are like two sides of the same coin. Like spring and autumn,” Ryan muses. “Because from the start, we were both gays of Chinese descent, but I only thought of myself as gay, while Ning primarily identified as Chinese.”

“If at the beginning I am Chinese and you are gay, then who is spring and who is autumn? Chinese has holidays for both.”

Ryan hums thoughtfully. **“** Well, spring’s gay because of _Maurice,_ and autumn’s pretty gay because of that story by Oscar Wilde about the bird who fell in love with a statue in autumn and then refused to leave when winter came.”

 **“** Us, too. We fell in love first time in autumn… twenty years ago, now—and meet because of my springtime movie [ _Springtime in Nanking_ (2015)]—and then fall in love second time during spring thirteen years ago, when I come back to New York for movie that takes place in autumn [ _The Same Wife_ (2022)].” Ning pauses. “I guess spring and autumn are both Chinese and gay. Just like us.”

 **“** Well, I feel like _I’m_ spring because I’m younger.”

 **“** So I am autumn because I am about to die,” Ning sighs, shaking his head. “I promise you a lifetime, but did not realize you want a _short_ one.”

“I never said that!” Ryan rolls his eyes, before tickling Ning, who yelps.

“At least you got, what, thirteen years out of it?” I tease.

They both stop moving about, before Ning takes Ryan’s hands in his. Voice gentle, he says, “Still too short. No length of time will ever be enough.”

“You are such a flirt,” Ryan retorts, despite his blush.

Suddenly remembering I’m interviewing them and it’s not just a regular Chaturgay (what we call our monthly hangouts, if you follow us on social media), I ask them what they thought of each other when they first met twenty years ago during Ning’s first ever visit to the U.S., in the fall of 2015. An up-and-coming actor at the time, Ning was promoting _Springtime in Nanking,_ which was his first major role. He was searching for a Chinese stylist to replace the one he fired because she didn’t know anything about Chinese culture.

He got Ryan instead.

_[[photo](http://www.frontcoverthemovie.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/photo-gallery/09-frontcover-gallery.jpg) of Ryan and Ning from when they first met]_

_Ning tries on pajamas Ryan designed that he wears for the_ Culture Chic _cover shot by celebrity photographer Gus LaMar in 2015. PHOTO BY JANET PÉREZ_

“Oh, easy,” Ning replies, laughing a little. I’m expecting to hear him talk about them getting distracted at the sight of each other, bonding over their experiences as gays of Chinese descent, engaging in flirtatious banter—basically, any and all of the things they’ve been doing for as long as I’ve known them. “Three words: I hated him.”

I pause, not sure I heard him right. “What?”

“I _hated_ him,” Ning repeats, shaking his head.

When I look over to Ryan, he’s smiling. “I’m a little afraid to ask _you_ now,” I tell him.

“Oh, I _despised_ him, too,” Ryan responds cheerfully.

 **“** You sound extremely… happy as you say this. I’m concerned.” Ning furrows his eyebrows, even as Ryan kisses the back of his hand in apology.

“So am I,” I say, when Ning joins Ryan’s efforts to assure me that there was no love lost between them. At the time. “I mean, I knew it wasn’t love at first sight, but…”

“Whoa,” Annie pipes up. “How is that even _possible?_ ”

To better understand Ryan and Ning’s (initial) enmity, you have to consider the contexts they were coming from. The Ryan who met Ning in 2015 was a far cry from the Ryan who made headlines with Theresa “Reese” Ng just two years later when they started the FashionEASTas, a fashion styling company that prioritizes heightening the visibility of LGBT public figures of Asian descent. His story is one that will be very familiar for many Asian Americans.

_[photo of Ryan as a young child, crying as his mother tries to feed him rice]_

_Ryan as a child, undated. PHOTO COURTESY OF YEN FU_

“I hated being Asian—the food, the culture, the language. I grew up feeling ashamed of my parents, their jobs, how Chinese I was… I hated being Chinese even more after the other kids figured out I was gay, to the point where my identity was completely centered around _only_ being gay and I’d only date white guys.” Ryan laughs at himself. “I was proud of it, too.”

“So what changed?”

Before Ryan can answer, Ning cuts in, smug. “He met _me._ ”

 **“** Oh my _god._ Why is it that when we’re alone, you’re the sappiest man in the world, but in public, you’re always dragging me for being in love with you? We’re married!” Ryan rolls his eyes before continuing. “ _Anyway,_ it wasn’t until later that I unlearned all that toxic stuff and became passionate about Asian representation. I was inspired to start the FashionEASTas with Reese because of _[GAYSIAN AMERICA],_ actually. I never saw Asians on TV while I was growing up, and especially not gay Asians, but after meeting Ning, who grew up seeing Chinese people in everything, my perspective shifted. While I didn’t gain Asian pride overnight, I _did_ find myself getting more and more comfortable with my Chinese heritage over time.”

Ning’s story could be seen as a foil to Ryan’s; as Ryan struggled with internalized racism in NYC, Ning was growing up with internalized homophobia in mainland China (Beijing), where the government approaches LGBT-related topics with a policy commonly summarized as follows: “No approval, no disapproval, no promotion.”

_[photo of Ning as a child making dumplings with his mother]_

_Ning as a child, undated. PHOTO COURTESY OF XIAONING FU-QI_

“As I grow up, I learn gay is not something you talk about openly. So I didn’t. I focus on acting, to represent a new China to the world because when people think China, they only think cheap fake bags or shoes. I wanted to change those perceptions,” Ning explains, shrugging. “When I met Ryan first time twenty years ago, I was only starting to become famous outside of China due to _Springtime in Nanking._ I became more famous in America because of Ryan after that because of how well he styled me, how sexy he made me look.”

“You flatter me,” Ryan says dismissively, waving his praise away. “You were already plenty sexy. Sorry, just had to make sure you all knew.” He pauses. “Well. ‘You all’ meaning you and Annie, I guess.”

“Oh, I’m not taking any cute stuff out. And this is definitely cute,” I grin, before bidding Ning to continue.

“When I was a teenager, I realized I was gay, but I knew my parents would never accept, so I did my best to hide it, even though there were always rumors.” Ning shakes his head. “I was not good at hiding how I felt, and especially not how I feel about Ryan. When I saw him existing as a gay man, being _proud_ of being gay, where the whole world can see him and his parents accept him, I changed how I saw myself. I stopped seeing my sexuality as a flaw, though that all came much later. Because first was the hate, the envy.”

When Ryan learned he was the intended Chinese replacement for Ning’s first stylist, he was appalled and indignant.

“Me being who I was back then, I was just like—what? I was the farthest from a Chinese person a Chinese person could be! I hated him on sight, how Chinese and how proud of being Chinese he was. Before the other kids knew I was gay, they used to bully me for being Chinese; they’d say I was a communist or make fun of my eyes. So I didn’t have any positive associations with being Chinese, and seeing Ning so… comfortable with it made me jealous that he didn’t carry any of that pain. But he did have other pain,” Ryan says.

“I never saw living openly as a gay man an option for me, for any Chinese. It was always something to be ashamed of, which meant you never talk about it. So when I saw Ryan living proudly, _shamelessly,_ as himself—I lashed out. I’m not proud of that, but I was very rude. But as time went on, we let go of our biases and started to understand each other more.”

Ryan smiles softly. “Then we got together, and it got intense fast. I was thinking about moving to China with him.”

Ning smiles, too, before looking away. “And then—”

_[[photo](http://www.frontcoverthemovie.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/photo-gallery/18-frontcover-gallery.jpg) of Ryan and Ning smiling at each other that was printed on NYChina’s front cover]_

_Ryan and Ning at a Cantonese opera performance of_ The Butterfly Lovers _in 2015._ NYChina _’s headline speculated about the nature of their relationship. PHOTO FROM_ NYCHINA _(NOW DEFUNCT)_

“We broke up.”

Ning sighs. “Yeah.”

“And we went on with our lives without each other.” Ryan rubs his thumb over Ning’s hand.

“For seven years.” Ning sighs again. “Yeah.”

—

**THE SEPARASIAN, THE FASHIONEASTAS, AND _THE SAME WIFE_**

The little time they’d had together was colorful. In the midst of all their laughing, Ryan and Ning recount clashing over everything, from choice of cuisine (Ning preferred Chinese, Ryan French) to what the overarching vision for Ning’s _Culture Chic_ cover should be (Ning didn’t want to wear Western clothes; Ryan wanted to make Ning a sex symbol to combat the desexualization of Asian men by white America). Once they get to the _NYChina_ photo, though, they both grow somber—the culture clash extended to how they each wanted to handle _NYChina_ speculating about their relationship.

_[[photo](http://www.frontcoverthemovie.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/photo-gallery/29-frontcover-gallery.jpg) of Ryan and Ning at the press conference]_

_Ryan and Ning at the press conference in 2015. PHOTO FROM_ NYCHINA _(NOW DEFUNCT)_

“I was flippant,” Ryan says bluntly. “I was like, so what? Just come out. It’s not a big deal; just stay with me.”

Ning shakes his head. “If you are flippant, I am outright uncaring of you at all. I wanted Ryan to tell press we are both straight. While Ryan was thinking about ways for us to still be together, I already dismissed us as impossible and focused on getting my career back on track.”

Ryan jerks his thumb at him. “He wanted me to say we were both fans of Maria Sharapova. Like, _first of all,_ Serena Williams now and forever. _Second,_ I prefer ice dancing. But in all seriousness, if you’ll just ignore for a second Ning trying to take all responsibility _again_ for us breaking up, we were ill-prepared to handle it together because we failed to understand where the other person was coming from, why they wanted to go about it in that particular way. By the time the photo came out, in 2015, there were already quite a few out LGBT Asian American actors, and I myself had been out since college. I didn’t know this back then, but while there _were_ out LGBT Chinese celebrities by then, none were from mainland China; they were from Hong Kong and Taiwan. And Ning’s _still_ one of the only out gays from mainland China now, twenty years later.”

“Even then, I already moved to U.S. before coming out,” Ning adds.

“I didn’t understand the gravity of the situation—the pressure of coming out as a celebrity, as a person living in mainland China, the intersection of the two… let alone what _my_ life would have been like if I had actually gone through with moving there.”

“And I didn’t understand the harm of making you lie about yourself,” Ning says softly. “Of treating your identity the way I treat mine. All Chinese people in your life wanted you to stay or go back into the closet, and when you didn’t, they punished you. They hurt you. Neighborhood kids, your parents, and now… me.”

“We already hashed this out when we got back together thirteen years ago, so you should really stop apologizing,” Ryan says, taking a second to squeeze his hand. Then he turns to me. “In the end, I managed to find a way to help Ning without lying. I confirmed that I was gay and said that he didn’t mind, that we were just friends. And not to, like, sound dismissive of the serious issues that arose and led to this press conference and our breakup, but I want to lighten the mood, so I just want to say, other than the friends part, I wasn’t lying. Ning _really_ didn’t mind me being gay.”

Ryan and I laugh at that, while Ning cracks a tiny smile. “I still don’t,” Ning quips.

They both walked away from the relationship as changed people. Ryan started taking steps to reacquaint himself with Chinese culture, which he had disdained his entire life, while Ning began to unpack how he felt about his sexuality and think about whether he wanted to live like he was in the long run. Both became passionate about creating, increasing, and supporting complex, realistic gay Asian representation in media.

Ning was the first person to tell Ryan that he could start his own company, but Ryan stopped considering it after Ning left. It wasn’t until Ryan saw the first issue of _GAYSIAN AMERICA_ being sold that he saw that it was possible for gay Asians to create things by and for themselves while also being successful, that others _cared_ about people like him.

Inspired to support gay Asian representation in his own field, he went to a fashion industry mixer in 2016, where he met Reese. (As mentioned in the previous issue, which featured the Nguyen-Ngs, when they first met, Reese thought Ryan was a lesbian, and Ryan thought Reese was a gay man.) Even though Ryan and Reese talked about starting a company together, Ryan was afraid to commit to the idea at first, unsure about how to navigate the Chinese part of his identity after meeting Ning, now that his perceptions of himself had shifted.

_[photo of Ryan and Reese standing back to back, arms crossed]_

_Ryan and Reese of the six-month-old FashionEASTas on our front cover._ GAYSIAN AMERICA, _DEC. 2016_

“I’d cut Chinese culture out of my life on purpose a long time ago because I didn’t want to be associated with the stereotypes. Then, when my family disowned me for a year after I came out to them, it was more of the same, but it also wasn’t—I was still cut off from Chinese culture, but I had no say in the matter this time. During that year, I started to think about how there’ll be a day when I’ll be the only one left of my family, when I’ll completely lose what little access to Chinese culture I had forever. Then my grandma got sick, which was when we patched things up. I still continued to worry about no longer having Chinese culture in my life after my family is gone, but I still just continued like before. Didn’t tell anyone how I was feeling, didn’t engage in Chinese stuff.”

Things came to a head when Ryan’s grandmother passed away in 2017.

“Even now, I still have a lot of regrets about not knowing enough Chinese to communicate with her.” Ryan sighs. “After her passing, I decided I couldn’t continue on like this, pretending I didn’t care about not having a positive, meaningful connection to Chinese culture. I started eating more Chinese food, observing Chinese holidays, picking up some Cantonese from Reese—whose own grandma thought that meant she and I were in a serious relationship, even though we had both been out as gay for years by then… and then we launched the FashionEASTas, focusing on increasing the visibility of LGBT Asian celebrities and LGBT Asian media in general.”

As Ryan continued exploring his now expanded identity, Ning realized living day-to-day in the closet was becoming unviable, and quickly. When he was young, he used to be unable to imagine his life past age thirty because he couldn’t reconcile being gay with being a successful actor. Then tragic wartime romance _Springtime in Nanking_ came along, and he compartmentalized his sexuality even more for the sake of his career, since it was finally taking off.

_[photo of Ning dressed in the navy blue pajamas Ryan designed, looking sullen and intense]_

_Ning on the front cover of_ Culture Chic _. PHOTOGRAPH BY GUS LAMAR FOR_ CULTURE CHIC, _MAR. 2016_

Things changed again when he met Ryan at age thirty-two. “My attraction to him aside, I see him able to live so openly and found myself wanting that. Before meeting him, I didn’t know people like him could _and_ do have such a life. However, when the magazine came out with the picture, I remembered—is not possible for someone like me.” Ning shakes his head, absentmindedly tapping his fingers on Ryan’s knee. “But _then,_ after I go home, after my girlfriend and I break up, when I was single for a long time and everyone keep asking me when I am going to date again, I realized… I hate those questions most of all because is the same as when press was always asking when I was going to marry my girlfriend. Never stopping. I started thinking about how I will be single for the rest of my life, since the one person I want is someone I cannot be with, and how press will ask me forever about why I am single. I feel trapped, and one day I woke up and knew I could no longer pretend me being gay would ever go away, could not keep seeing men in secret, could not keep being _lucky_ I was not caught. Especially since I am not very good at hiding.”

Ning came out to his parents over the course of years. He was too afraid to say outright that he was gay the first time he brought it up, so he compromised with himself and told them he didn’t like women. His parents pretended he never said anything.

“Chinese people are good at that,” Ning says, shaking his head. “Anything that brings shame to the family, we act like didn’t happen.”

Meanwhile, Ning’s career was taking off, now that Ryan had assuaged the fears of directors considering him for their next projects. He rarely took breaks from working, in order to distract himself from thinking about the man he’d loved and left in NYC, from worrying about what his parents really thought of him, and from confronting the realization he’d had about not wanting—and not being able—to continue hiding his sexuality for the rest of his life. It was a matter of practicality, too; the more famous he became, the more difficult it was to sneak away.

“I began to feel like I was in a fishbowl, people watching me at all angles. I was acting and telling stories I want to tell, but I wasn’t happy. I didn’t realize how heavy this secret was until I met Ryan and saw how he lived without it, but I told myself it didn’t matter—I have carried this secret for so long already, I can continue.” Ning then huffs out a quiet sigh. “Until I realized I didn’t have that energy or motivation anymore. Which is when I hear an interesting whisper, a rumor about a movie about Chinese gays, and realize there was a certain story I wanted to tell most of all, a story I almost forgot about because I told myself for so long that I didn’t want to tell it, that it is not a story that matters—to me or to _anyone._ ”

That rumor turned out to be what later became _The Same Wife_ (2022), but at the time, esteemed Chinese director Yingyue Jiang had only just gotten her hands on the script, whose author’s identity remains unknown but to her to this day. She had only finished reading the whole script the day before Ning came calling.

“She was _not_ happy with me,” Ning says, chuckling. “But she had good reason. Even though I was very excited about the movie, I was also terrified. Both of not getting the role and of what would happen if I did get it. What if everyone hated the movie? What if everyone who saw it would then know I am gay? What if everyone sees this movie, finds out I am gay, and then hates me, the movie, _and_ all other gay people?”

He knows these worries heavily and negatively impacted his performance during his first two auditions. Yingyue herself was frustrated and confused; she and Ning had worked together on a film adaptation of _The Cowherd and the Weaver Girl_ just two years before, and he had been able to intuit what she wanted with ease. In fact, they would have continued working together on a few other planned adaptations of Chinese myths and folktales if Ning hadn’t backed out after seeing _The Butterfly Lovers_ next on the list. She told him he had one more chance before she looked elsewhere, even though his talent and name could drum up more interest in the film.

By then, the existence of this movie had leaked to the public, and Ning’s parents had somehow gotten word of Ning’s involvement.

“So what did you do?” Ryan asks, beating me to it.

“I told them about you. And then confirmed I wanted to be in it. Because it was a story I wanted to tell that I never saw before and yet closest to my own experience I have ever seen.” A small grin tugs at the corners of Ning’s mouth. “Then I called Yingyue about a third audition, and she only agreed so she could go back to Lunar New Year dinner.”

That time, Ning succeeded. “All my life, acting has been my escape from real life. I can pretend I am straight, living in a world where I don’t have to worry about my secret because I don’t have that secret in that world. The problem I faced during _The Same Wife_ auditions is ironic—a major theme of this movie is secrets, but for me to play Anhai, there was no hiding, no escape from real life. I had to accept identity as gay man, to decide to still try to find happiness and solace wherever I could even if being out is not an option and may never be, for me and Anhai both. Once I realize that, my mental block, the anxiety, grew smaller, much easier to push aside and act, perform and be my truth.”

After Yingyue called to say he had been cast, he threw himself into the project, going off-book almost immediately in order to better immerse himself in the story and to demonstrate to Yingyue that he was serious about its success, since all she’d seen of him lately were his multiple phone calls asking about the movie and his shaky auditions. They wrapped up filming in 2021, about three or four years after Ning first heard about it.

Then, it was time to show the world.

 _[photo of Ning in_ The Same Wife _(2022)]_

 _Anhai Liu (Xiaoning Fu-Qi) from_ The Same Wife _(2022) sneaks a glance at Lei Wang (Haoyang Chen), who looks back. PHOTO COURTESY OF YINGYUE JIANG_

—

**RECONCILIASIAN**

“Are you just going to keep reusing the -asian pun?” Ryan rolls his eyes and leans back into Ning’s arms. “It’s getting old.”

“Hey,” I protest. It’s not like he doesn’t know the answer; we at _GAYSIAN AMERICA_ are contractually bound to sprinkle it generously throughout every single article we put out. “Just like you guys had conditions for doing this interview, I have my own.”

“Wait, what conditions?” Ryan asks. “I didn’t have any conditions!”

I jerk my chin at Ning, who shrugs sheepishly, but doesn’t relinquish his hold. “ _He_ did. Three guesses as to what it was.”

“It wouldn’t have to do with why I’ve been on your lap this whole time, would it?” Ryan asks Ning wryly, before turning to me. “After those seven years apart, neither of us handles even a few weeks apart well, and Ning was only gone for two weeks before coming back last night.”

_[photo of Ryan in Ning’s lap; smiling, Ryan throws his hands up in indignation as Ning grins guiltily]_

They share a look and laugh as they recall their first impressions of each other after all those years.

“‘Oh no, he’s hot,’” Ryan says immediately. “And then, ‘Oh my god, I’m probably still in love with him.’”

“I already knew how I feel about him, so actually, I didn’t think at all because he grew so beautiful over the years.” Ning smirks at him.

“How do you always make me feel like I’m the one being dragged when you’re dragging _yourself?_ ” Ryan asks exasperatedly. “Anyway, Ning came back into my life because he wanted me to style him for his promo tour of _The Same Wife_ here.”

“Then Ryan say no, and I thought, okay. End of it.”

“Honestly, so did I.” But then Ryan’s parents intervened. “They convinced me to watch Ning’s movie. I was stunned—I’ve been working on improving Asian American representation for so much of my adult life, and I couldn’t believe how much I related to Ning’s movie, even though I was born in New York and wasn’t familiar at all with the Chinese context. I’ve seen a lot of American gay movies, but I related to very few. Not to say those movies are bad—I love them, but it’s why we need more movies showing variation in gay people’s stories. I knew twenty minutes into the movie that it was going to make history, and I wanted to do my part in making sure it got the recognition it deserved. Even if it meant facing Ning again.”

“Did you always want Ryan to come back and work on this with you?” I ask Ning.

Ning shakes his head. “Many people believe I took this role to try to get Ryan back, but I went home to Beijing in 2015 knowing we would never have what we had again, especially after taking so many liberties with his kindness at the press conference. After that, I try not to think about him, instead focus on acting and learning to be nicer to myself about being gay. I wanted to play Anhai because I never saw any other movies about my circumstances and because I want to choose my own happiness for once.”

“I think a lot of people believe that you did it for me because they think it sounds more romantic, but the thing is, that reduces Ning to just… I don’t know, to just being a guy who will do anything for me, who does it all for love. Which is true, but. During those years apart, we couldn’t help but think of the other person every now and then, but we both thought we were never going to see each other again,” Ryan explains. “So while meeting each other changed our perspectives about ourselves, everything we did on our own after that? Was for ourselves. I mean, Ning knew a little earlier our lives might intersect again, but we were under no illusions about getting back what we had.”

“I actually didn’t even think to ask you when we started planning how to promote the movie internationally,” Ning says to Ryan. “I didn’t dare. Not until James [Bainbridge-Li, who manages his PR] suggest to me. And then I remembered our promise—to turn stories into movies, to make it happen together.”

The first days of Ning coming back to New York unfolded much like a rom-com. Ryan realized he still had feelings for Ning and agonized endlessly about whether Ning reciprocated, even while Ning was pulling out all the stops, but Ryan remained oblivious.

“Not really oblivious,” Ning says. “More like he didn’t _let_ himself see how I still feel about him.”

“Ning was full-on wooing me. He cooked for me, charmed my parents, charmed _me…_ I don’t know how I didn’t realize sooner. I kept asking myself if I was just reading too much into Ning being nice because he probably just didn’t want me to ditch the styling job,” Ryan admits, laughing at himself. “Though I never thought he hired me because I was gay so he could point at me as proof that he was an ally, like people were accusing him of doing. I just figured it was because this was a story he’d always wanted to tell and wanted me to share the moment with him.”

Ning snorts. **“** One time I tell him to eat, and he said too busy. Then I said boyfriend would make sure he eat, and he said he has no time for boyfriend. Then I cook for him. And he still doesn’t get the hint.”

 **“** I figured it out eventually! I know it’s hard to believe _now,_ but back then, Ning was very smooth and dramatic and always had a grand romantic gesture at the ready. Now he just drags me.”

Ning kisses his ear in apology. “I also wondered if you still had feelings for me during then.”

“Yeah, but you were much better at hiding that than I was because I didn’t even know that until _right now._ I always thought you just already knew I did.” He pulls away. “Alright, that’s enough. Let me go, please. You’re messing up my hair.”

“Tell them why, bǎobèi,” Ning says, as he kisses him in the same spot again. _[“Treasure” in Mandarin]_

“Why what?”

“Tell Lisa, Annie, the world, why I always hide my face, always kiss your ear.”

Ryan groans, face reddening. “No. It’s embarrassing.”

“If you don’t tell, then _I_ will. In a very dramatic, sappy way, as you always call it.”

“Alright, alright!” Ryan yelps as Ning tickles him. “After our short but intense relationship, when he went back to his life and me to mine, I decided to get a tattoo to remember him by. I thought of him as my ‘one who got away.’”

“The one who changed your world.”

“Same thing,” Ryan replies affectionately. “Not that I could ever forget Ning, to be honest. Even if our story hadn’t turned out like this… no, I wouldn’t want to forget him even then. So yeah, I got a tattoo.”

“Behind his ear,” Ning adds.

“Who’s telling the story here?” Ryan demands to know. “Anyway, then he came back, and… well.”

“And _found_ it,” Ning cuts in again, smugly. “Ryan thinks long hair now will make me forget it’s there, but I could never. Even when we are old and I forget his name. _Never._ ”

Ryan starts laughing in the middle of his exasperated sigh. “Oh my god, I didn’t grow it out to hide it from you! I just felt like it, that’s all.”

“I don’t know… it still sounds pretty dramatic and sappy from you, Ryan,” I tease. Outvoted three to one, he admits defeat.

Ning uncovered the tattoo right as they decided to take the plunge and try again. Ryan had some lingering trust issues stemming from when Ning wanted Ryan to lie about being gay at the press conference, while Ning was struggling with his inner conflict about being closeted and not being able to be a ‘good’ partner to Ryan because of that.

“When Ning came back seven years later, I wanted to get back together with him, but I was scared to try again, in case I had to do that for him again. But he was patient with me. We talked so much about everything that went wrong the first time and apologized for literally everything we could think of until we put in a yearlong ban about apologies, but you know what? I just realized who _really_ should have apologized.”

“Who?” Ning asks.

“ _NYChina!_ They’re the ones who were prying in your business, making speculations about your private life that put you in danger. Not just in terms of your career, but in terms of you being disowned by your family or people in your social circles cutting you out of their lives. _They’re_ the ones to really blame for creating such a painful, stressful situation. Too bad they folded before we could get an apology from them.”

“I’m just glad they no longer here,” Ning says.

 _NYChina_ published an article about the press conference in their following issue to assure their readers that Ning was not gay, but by then, something amazing had already happened. A subset of Ning’s fans in mainland China and in diaspora Chinese communities alike organized a boycott of _NYChina_ after they published the photo of Ryan and Ning, accusing _NYChina_ of trying to smear Ning’s reputation through homophobia. Facing heavy criticism, the publication closed less than a year afterward, and many of those fans began following Ryan on his journey to starting the FashionEASTas with Reese.

“People really came through for us then,” Ryan says of the boycott. “They continued to defend Ning’s privacy, too, when we started dating again but publicly were just friends. It was also easier now, too, since the media landscape itself wasn’t too welcoming to those kinds of speculations anymore. Behind the scenes, things were getting super intense super fast again, and we had to force ourselves to slow down, take our time. We didn’t want to rush things like we did the first time, but we did know from day one of trying again that we were it for each other.”

Ning snorts. “The day I ask him if I can be his boyfriend, he was already thinking about pranking me at our wedding. Three years later.”

“Not for lack of trying on your part. You wanted to propose to me the second day we were dating! And then you pretty much did a month after that!”

“I just know what I want. And who.” Ning kisses the back of Ryan’s hand.

Despite their banter, Ryan and Ning are both frank about the issues they had yet to resolve upon trying again.

“Over the years we were apart, I thought about us a lot. We didn’t define what we had, and I didn’t dare show Ryan how I felt after magazine started speculating about him and me. I just… focused only on my career, on protecting myself, which at the time did not include protecting Ryan.” Ning sighs. “So I was determined for things to be different if I got a second chance with him. That’s why I tell him right away how I feel about him when I come back, apologize for press conference at a critic screening for _The Same Wife,_ and we go out on dates, spend time together publicly. I was not ready to come out, but I wanted Ryan to know I am serious about him. And he was so accommodating.”

“Ning makes it seem like I was doing him a huge favor, but in reality, we talked about what we were comfortable with and what we weren’t, in terms of how we presented ourselves to the public.”

“We were photographed together often, and while I didn’t confirm any rumors about us dating, I didn’t deny, either. I was still afraid of showing my true self to the world, but I was getting tired of hiding my sexuality from even my family, of living in fear of getting caught, of maybe one day being with a man who would blab to the press the truth about me. But like Ryan said, times have been changing. In the beginning days of us back together, some people were still speculating if I was gay, but most were quick to denounce them as prying into my private life. I myself made clear I didn’t want anything to distract from _The Same Wife._ ” Then Ning laughs. “And then some say it was refreshing to see a straight Asian man not afraid to show how much he loves his gay Asian friend.”

“For my part, I grew up conflating being out with being happy. Because of the gay movies I saw, of the white gay community I joined, I got frustrated with Ning about him staying closeted when that magazine published that photo of us twenty years ago. Why not just come out and then stay with me? Which is a completely flippant response, I know. So when he came back, by that time, I’d been unpacking my feelings about being out, and I told him I didn’t mind just being his friend in public because he wasn’t forcing me back in the closet like before. It was hard to do, don’t get me wrong, but coming out isn’t and shouldn’t be seen as a required milestone for being gay. Ning wasn’t in a position where he felt secure and comfortable with coming out, and I understood that.”

As for fans of their friendship…

“I totally get the people who said our friendship was refreshing. My whole life, I’ve seen how fragile straight men are about their masculinity, but especially straight Chinese American guys. I was bullied for being girly—my childhood best friend actually got a bunch of kids to gang up on me to prove he wasn’t also gay. So for people who were rooting for our bromance because it was refreshing, I get that,” Ryan says.

“But then it all changed when I announced I was engaged to Ryan.” Ning shakes his head.

“Oh yeah, they hated us,” Ryan agrees.

—

**REPRESENTASIAN OF THE ENGAYGEMENT**

[photo of Ryan’s and Ning’s profiles facing each other, with both bending one knee at a 90-degree angle to rest a foot on the wall behind them]

 _Mr. & Mr. Fu-Qi _(2024)

The Fu-Qis took the world by storm eleven years ago when they posted their engagement photos on Ryan’s Instagram, which depicted the two of them in iconic poses from classic movies such as _Dirty Dancing_ (1987) _, Mr. & Mrs. Smith _(2005) _,_ and _Titanic_ (1997). The reactions were two-fold; not only was it the first time Ning was confirmed to be romantically linked to a man, but also the photos sparked a thoughtful discussion about representation in media that still has ripples today.

“Throughout years I was always saying I was single, happy to focus on my career, while Ryan was known to have a boyfriend, but never said his name. The day before we planned to post some of the photos from our engagement shoot—thank you, Annie—I forgot to tuck the ring Ryan proposed to me with inside my shirt because I wore on necklace chain at the time.” Ning shakes his head. “People started speculating it looked a lot like Ryan’s because same color. Some people thought it was a friendship ring.” He looks at Ryan pointedly. “Or a _brotherhood_ ring.”

“Again, I am _sorry!_ I didn’t know that was going to haunt me for the rest of my life!”

“In early days as we talk about my feelings about coming out, Ryan pointed out coming out works out if you are welcomed _in_ somewhere else—I was able to come out eleven years ago because I have supportive family. A place to go. So then we released the photos and confirmed our engagement, and we did not expect the reaction. How people start asking why we _don’t_ have many gay Asian movies, or how many people were angry we were not just friends.”

“That wasn’t even half of it. Other people came out to their families because of him. _The Same Wife_ got even more popular. Ning’s fanbase exploded.” Ryan turns to face Ning. “I think you got, like, a few hundred proposals the day you came out?”

Ning rolls his eyes. “I don’t understand why. I came out with our _engagement photos._ ”

It’s Ryan’s turn to roll his own eyes. “Babe, you’re a hunk. And all the not-straight men suddenly realized they were the dating pool.”

“No, _you_ are,” Ning snorts, before becoming serious. “But I got a lot of support, more than I expected. I am lucky I am not based in China anymore, I think. Easier to be out here. So that helped, too.”

Then there were the fans who were angry Ryan and Ning turned out to be gay, who turned on them after they announced their engagement. “Because our ‘wholesome’ friendship turned out to be a romantic relationship all along. They were really disappointed that Ning wasn’t just a friend supporting his gay friend, that he wasn’t the example of healthy straight masculinity like they’d thought, that we weren’t just two good bros—”

“You say ‘bros,’” Ning interrupts.

“Completely different connotation from brothers!” Ryan exclaims.

“Fine, you can have that one. But yes. These people kept demanding from us apologies for misleading them.”

“Do you have anything you’d want to say to those people?” I ask.

“I mean, you see healthy, strong friendships between guys all the time. Buddy cop shows, ‘odd couple’ pairs, et cetera. I used to watch all those shows hoping to see the subtext become something, you know?” Ryan replies. “But it never did—things that could potentially be read as romantic were explained away as friendship, or the idea of them being in love with each other was laughed off as a joke, even though they said romantic things to each other all the time.”

“He’s still not over Trobed not getting together. It’s been _years,_ ” Ning says exasperatedly.

“I’m just saying, they had _six seasons and a movie_ to do it—I’m sorry. I got distracted from the question. What was I saying? There are plenty of depictions of healthy dude friendships out there, and anyway, we never set out to be an example of that. We’re just two guys who fell in love! Not to say Ning isn’t also one of my best friends while being my husband. Because you should always marry your best friend.” Ryan then curls his hair around his finger, thinking. “You know, I’ve always interpreted people getting mad about guys being close and actually dating to be homophobic because they act like there’s nothing worse than for guys to be in love with each other. So I guess what I really want to say to those people is, I hope you understand why we were publicly just friends at the time. And to also demand the men in your life to be better. You deserve it.”

Their engagement photos were also a big deal for another reason. Their remakes of iconic posters revived the ongoing dialogue about the lack of gay Asian representation in media, bringing it back to the forefront of the public consciousness.

“I’m glad for that, even though we didn’t expect all the articles and discussions on social media that came after it. We did those photos because we both care a lot about representation—before we met each other and saw how the other half lived, so to speak, we had so much disdain for different parts of our identities,” Ryan says. “After we met and saw each other love and live those parts of our identities with pride, we became inspired in different ways to further our goal of increasing gay Asian representation by gay Asians. Ning on the big screen and me behind the scenes, to heighten our visibility and to say—we exist, we have stories just like straight white people, and please understand _we_ are people, too. Asians are so underrepresented in American media, LGBT Asians even more so. LGBT Asians aren’t all that common in Asian media, either.”

“We both struggled for a long time with the parts of our identities we saw each other so proud of. It was through meeting each other we saw it was possible to love the other parts of us we hated, and as we were figuring out our relationship, we also at the same time managed to find ways to put it all together,” Ning agrees. “My being gay cannot be separated from how I experience being Chinese. But back when we hated those parts of us… I would give anything to keep people from the pain and hate you have to unlearn to accept yourself. One way to do that is to show it’s possible, through movies and books and shows.”

“At the time, I didn’t realize how big it was going to get, either,” Annie reminisces, “though I knew it would be important commentary. And I didn’t anticipate how famous _I’d_ get. I feel like everyone knew my name overnight!”

Since they first posted the photos, there has been an increase in LGBT Asian American representation. Chinese American lesbian rom-com and cinematic classic _Saving Face_ (2004) finally got its long-awaited sequel in 2029 (called _Saving Grace_ ), chronicling Dr. Wil Pang-Shing and her wife and renowned dancer Vivian Pang-Shing’s journey to become pregnant, with Wil ultimately carrying the baby and struggling to understand her shifting identity that now includes motherhood; the indie dromedy _Cover My Front_ (2030) has continued to charm the U.S. with its unconventional love story concerning an undercover Chinese American FBI agent in love with a Korean American single father; _Starling_ (2033) has left viewers spellbound as they watch the cautiously optimistic Cambodian teen protagonist struggle with their gender identity and bond with a charismatic but insecure Indian boy over adjusting to their new lives in the U.S. and later fall in love.

Ryan and Ning have followed in the tradition of celebrities before them by buying out showings every time a movie about LGBT Asians comes out. “People have many reasons for not going to see movie, so we want to at least make money not be that reason,” Ning explains.

“There’s nothing like being in a theater watching it with everyone. Like, as everyone who knows me knows, I’ve seen _The Same Wife_ hundreds of times by now, and the time I got to see it at a critic screening Ning invited me to before we started dating is still my favorite. It made me so happy to see just how many people cared about stories like these,” Ryan says. “Not to mention how nice it was for all of us to cry together at the ending of _Cover My Front._ They should’ve gotten together!” When Ning protests him spoiling the ending, Ryan retorts, “It’s been five years! It’s only polite to warn everyone about the unhappy ending!”

Ryan and Ning’s engagement shoot even spawned fan-made remakes of the movie posters they spoofed. For example, one of their most talked-about spoofs is of _Pride and Prejudice_ (2005) and inspired the snarky YouTube series _Asian Pride and Prejudice_ (created by actress Claire Hsu-Silva), which came out last year, ten years after Ryan and Ning first posted the photos.

_[photo of Ryan leaning his head slightly back to turn to look at Ning behind him, with Ryan in a white polka-dotted shirt and navy blue blazer and Ning in a multi-colored floral black jacket]_

_It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single actor in possession of a good talent, must be in want of a stylist. PRIDE & PREJUDICE_ (2024)

On the surface, while that particular photo is as impeccably staged as the others, it’s not as eye-catching as their _Dirty Dancing_ (1987) lift or as adorable as their _How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days_ (2003) lean. Dressed in the clothes they were wearing when they first met in 2015, only the way Ryan and Ning are posed gives away the fact that it’s a reference to the Keira Knightley adaptation, and yet it’s the one that’s drawn the most ire, birthing several think pieces on detangling whiteness from the concept of ‘normal’ or ‘the default’ and highlighting the intermingling of different nations and cultures throughout history.

“Many people stop and look at [that photo], saying, ‘That’s not white’—I mean ‘right.’ They want to know why not wear clothing of that time, the Chinese clothing. Or wear like the actual movie. Then others say is not a good remake, or shouldn’t touch this remake at all because it is in past England, would not make sense for us to do,” Ning explains. “Because Chinese people don’t exist in 1800s and because only white people can remake _Pride and Prejudice_ for whatever setting they want, apparently.”

“We weren’t expecting anyone to pay attention to that one, to be honest. It was just a silly joke about when we first met—hate at first sight, both of us being proud of certain parts of ourselves and having prejudices about each other, overcoming those, and falling in love… Instead, people were Tweeting at us that we shouldn’t have touched _Pride and Prejudice_ because it has a history we shouldn’t have tried to change. The other movies we did were okay because they were modern, but not this. But like, hello, _Bridget Jones’ Diary? Pride and Prejudice and Zombies?_ I haven’t seen as much pushback on those other remakes, if any, many of which feature white-only casts.” Ryan gestures passionately with his hands as he talks. “I’d understand if the story was specifically tied to a particular culture, where the cultural context is integral to the story, but _Pride and Prejudice_ ’s themes are universal, easily adaptable to different contexts, which is the same for every other movie poster we chose to do, since our whole goal was to show the universality of all those movies. If you can do it with straight white people, why not everyone else? Why not gaysians?”

“Another favorite reason they bring up is they want to escape into that world and live in their imagination for a little while, and I have to ask—what about for us who cannot lose ourselves in that kind of world? I said before that acting was my escape, but I would rather escape to a world where I can be myself, where I can exist, not a world where I don’t worry about my secret because that part of me does not exist in that world. And what does that say if you want to escape to a world where you don’t see people like us?”

Ryan sticks his hand out to Ning, who holds it. Despite the botched high-five, Ryan triumphantly says, “And _that’s_ why we did the photos!”

—

**IN THE FAMILY GAY**

Peppered throughout Ryan and Ning’s social media posts about how the other has managed to make them swoon _again_ are their absolutely adorable anecdotes about their two children, eight-year-old Joey and five-year-old Leslie. The biggest reason for the popularity of Ryan and Ning’s children is how relatable they are, as Ryan and Ning’s anecdotes detail common Asian American experiences of cultural clashes, intergenerational friction, and linguistic mix-ups (and puns)—appealing to immigrant parents, diaspora American parents, and the children of those parents alike.

The following observation sums up their family dynamic perfectly:

> By the time I arrive, the Lunar New Year party is well underway, and people from all walks of life are crowded around a large table in the center of a well-lit, spacious room, encouraging Ryan and Reese at the center of the commotion to gaa yau (literally _add gas_ in Cantonese). The two are competing in a calligraphy contest, frankly, Ryan is floundering.
> 
> “Ning, help me!” Ryan exclaims, shutting his eyes tight. He’s managed to write out a third of the Rainbow Fortune House’s name in Chinese, but is now balking at the third character of 彩虹福气中心, which means _luck_ or _fortune._ His brush stains the paper, as Reese sticks her tongue out in concentration, trying to remember the stroke order.
> 
> “You’ll be fine,” his husband Ning says dismissively, arms crossed over his broad chest. “You practice so much already, don’t worry.”
> 
> “I can’t do this.” Ryan bites his lip, scrunching his eyes closed even more tightly. “I really can’t.”
> 
> “Oh, quit your whining.” Reese rolls her eyes, pushing her galaxy-dyed hair out of her eyes. “You’re lucky you learned simplified, okay? _I_ grew up with traditional, but now I can’t remember anything!”
> 
> “Children, what do we always tell your Dad when he doubts himself?” Ning asks their two children on either side of him.
> 
> “You still have a place in Chinese community, if you want it, however you want it!” Joey exclaims, bouncing up and down.
> 
> “Not that deep if you do bad!” Leslie shouts more succinctly. Leslie stays back, clinging to Ning’s legs while watching Ryan slide the brush across the paper, whose eyes are still closed.
> 
> Ryan opens his eyes to smile at Joey and Leslie. After he thanks them gently, he glares at Ning, “Baby, I _swear, if you don’t help me—_ ”
> 
> Rolling his eyes, Ning taps Leslie’s shoulder to scoot, who runs into the arms of Ryan’s parents, and swoops in from behind to cover Ryan’s brush-wielding hand with his, guiding his hand through the strokes of the character’s radical. If you’ve ever seen their Instagram posts, then you know this is a fairly common occurrence. (In fact, Gaysian Twitter has observed that Ning is dramatically sweeping Ryan into his arms in their couple selfies, more often than not.)
> 
> “Okay, hard one done now,” Ning announces. Ryan’s eyes stay glued shut. “What are you doing? Open your eyes!”
> 
> “I can’t!”
> 
> “The rest are so easy!” Ning protests.
> 
> “Wow, even when you cheat, you can’t do it,” Reese says smugly, holding her brush up triumphantly. “I’m done!”
> 
> _[the photo in the middle of the right page has Ryan’s and Reese’s banners placed together for comparison; the characters on Reese’s banner are slightly wobbly but legible, while the characters on Ryan’s devolve into inkblots after the_ 福 _Ning helped him write]_
> 
> The crowd studies their handiwork before voting for Reese’s to be hung up on the wall, which Ryan does while Reese gloats. As Ryan skips the fourth step on his way down the ladder and hops off the last step, Ning extends a hand to him, pulling him in for a kiss. “See? You still as Chinese as you always have been.”
> 
> _—SOPHIA CHUA-MERCADO,  
>  MORNING OF THE 2035 LUNAR NEW YEAR CELEBRASIAN AT THE RFH_

Given how naturally Ryan and Ning seem to have incorporated fatherhood into their lives and identities, it may come as a surprise to learn they had self-doubt about having children (while being completely confident about each other’s parenting abilities). “I feel like Chinese culture puts a lot of emphasis on having kids, on having sons especially, which made it difficult, for me, to figure out whether I really wanted kids or not,” Ryan explains. “Not to mention, while my dad and I get along much better now, our relationship when I was young was rocky at best. I didn’t want to subject a kid to all that, and I knew no amount of wanting to be the parent I needed while growing up would be enough for me to actually _be_ that parent.”

“For me, I knew I had to eventually have, after fulfilling first of parents’ expectation: marriage [to a woman]. I also did not have a smooth relationship with my father.” Ning pauses to collect his thoughts. “Some parents are very strict about how their children should be. Girls have to be one way, boys another. Mine was like that when I was young, which played part in how I struggled to accept my sexuality, so I was not excited about having kids, but I knew I must, to make my parents happy.”

Another worry at the forefront of their minds about raising a family was the complicated relationship to Chinese culture they each had, since they both experienced a certain degree of disconnect to it, being gays of Chinese descent (due in part to the importance of [straight] marriage in Chinese culture), but knew they would still want their children to have the choice of connecting to Chinese culture.

Ryan’s relationship to Chinese culture stuck out to Ning as poignantly fraught due to Ryan experiencing racism as a nonwhite minority in the U.S. that led to Ryan rejecting his Chinese identity up until his late twenties.

“You think _mine_ is fraught?” Ryan asks Ning. “I always thought _yours_ was because from my own experience, it always seemed like being gay was antithetical to being Chinese.” Before I can interject, Ryan says, “Wait, why are we doing this again? It’s not a competition! Anyway, as we started to seriously consider having kids, the first thing I thought of was that I did _not_ want a repeat of my internalized racism, of the guilt and the shame.”

“You are being harsh on yourself again,” Ning chides gently. “What _we_ do not want is a repeat of the _pain_ Ryan endured with pushing this part of himself away on purpose. We agreed right away we want our kids to be comfortable with both Chinese and American culture, to be proud and happy to be Chinese American, to hate durian because they don’t like the taste, not because they don’t want others to make fun of them. But even though we know all this, we still not know if we could actually do it.”

“We were really surprised but pleased to learn how much we related to each other about fatherhood, but I also feel like the fact that we were on the same page made it harder for us to move forward. Both of us could see how good the other would be as a parent, but didn’t believe it in ourselves. It took all our friends and family sitting down with us and talking to build our confidence about being ready to take on this commitment,” Ryan explains. “And especially because we both thought we were going to be too old to have kids—I’d just turned forty, myself, when we had our first child.”

“Ryan really hate this saying, but it really does take village,” Ning agrees. “Ryan was already Sky’s [Reese and Nora’s child] godfather by then, and we both would help with babysitting all the time. Every time we did, we get closer to seeing ourselves as parents, but not enough. What I think helped is our friends and family tell us we are ready, but they will still be here to help if we want them, which we do, of course. We needed that reassurance and promise, I think. And I used to worry we are too old for kids, but now I believe we needed that time to grow, to be ready.”

What’s struck people the most about the Fu-Qis is how much validation each of them doles out to one other, even from Joey and Leslie to their parents. Keenly aware of the baggage surrounding his relationship to Chinese culture Ryan still struggles with sometimes, he and Ning take great pains to nurture Joey’s and Leslie’s understandings of their cultural identities as second(?)-generation Chinese Americans—and to be patient as they do so.

The (ongoing) result of their parenting approach has been two children who seamlessly switch from speaking English with Ryan and Ning, to Cantonese with Ryan’s parents, to Mandarin with Ning’s parents; wholeheartedly throw themselves into learning how to make (and eat) Chinese food; are endlessly inquisitive about their family’s immigration history, Chinese folklore, and the regional variations in the Chinese traditions Ryan’s and Ning’s families follow, since Ryan’s side of the family has Cantonese roots and Ning’s family is from Beijing.

Cognizant of how frustrating it can be for Joey and Leslie to navigate their identities as Chinese Americans (when they’re not curious about them, the regional variations are a point of tension and confusion because they don’t always remember which is from where), Ryan and Ning validate them any time they can. They walk through their children’s emotions with them for all of them to better understand how they are affected and how that impacts the way they think of themselves.

The upside of such scaffolding is that Joey and Leslie are attuned to their feelings and needs, and have the vocabulary and skills to articulate them.

The downside—”Honestly, it’s not really a downside, just… a minor annoyance that isn’t really that much of an annoyance,” Ryan laughs, “but they are now in the habit of validating _us,_ too. Me especially, and I’m including Ning in the _they._ ”

Isn’t that a good thing?

“Yes!” Ryan is quick to assure me. “But, like. I mean. All of you saw earlier when I needed help with writing a Chinese word, and the three of them were just validating instead of helping. Sometimes I need help remembering how to write something in Chinese, so I’ll be, like, ‘I forgot how to write _welcome_ in Chinese. Can you help me?’ Then they’ll all be like, ‘Don’t worry! It doesn’t mean you’re a bad Chinese person.’ And I’m just like, ‘I know that, but I still need to know.’ You know what they say next? ‘It’s okay if you don’t know.’ And then I have to be like, ‘No, it’s not, because I need to finish up this poster for the LNY potluck, and I know you know because we just covered it last week during our Chinese lesson.’ Don’t get me wrong—I love validation. I just need answers sometimes, though, you know?”

“Why not use phone?” Ning asks.

“Leslie wanted to take pictures of some butterflies in the backyard while you were all hollering about, remember?”

_[photo of the Fu-Qis looking at the West Lake with their backs to the camera; Joey is between Ryan and Ning, and Leslie is on Ning’s shoulders]_

_The Fu-Qis in Hangzhou, 2034. Next stop: Lingyin Temple. PHOTO COURTESY OF RYAN & NING FU-QI_

One common parenting challenge Ryan and Ning had was the question of having their children learn Chinese—should they, and how do they get their children to do it without making them hate it in the process? When Ryan realized he wanted their children to learn Chinese, he laughed at the irony; he now understood why his own parents had wanted him to learn Chinese and why they despaired when he didn’t. “It was the same moment of realization I had when I realized I still had feelings for Ning, kind of like the universe was saying, ‘Surprise! Looks like you _aren’t_ going to get through life without confronting _all_ the baggage you have about this.’ We went back and forth on this for a while because Ning wanted to go with whatever I wanted for them, but I had no idea what I was doing.”

“Because you are expert living here. I didn’t want to force them—or you—into learning Chinese because maybe other kids make fun or they start resenting Chinese because we forced them to learn.” Ning looks chastened. “Since knowing Ryan, I learned more about struggles Chinese Americans have that Chinese people do not have, do not consider, or have not heard of—like the pressure of learning Chinese—so I do not want to pressure any more. I have always only wanted Ryan to be as Chinese as he wants to be, but with our kids, I find myself asking, ‘How Chinese _do_ we want our kids to be?’”

It turns out the answer is exactly the same—as Chinese as _they_ want to be. To get that answer, they asked their kids directly. “I don’t know why we didn’t think to do sooner.” Ning shakes his head. “With me and Ryan, we learn early on how important communication is.”

Then, when Ryan and Ning asked their children about going to Chinese school, Joey and Leslie immediately said no. Ryan was ready to let the issue go, despite wanting them to go because he wanted them to learn how to write Chinese (at the time, Joey and Leslie only knew how to speak Cantonese and Mandarin, picking it up from their family) and because he didn’t want them to regret not learning earlier, like him. He didn’t want to force a connection to Chinese culture they didn’t want.

However, as Ning watched the way Joey and Leslie would readily point to Chinese characters on signs or TV subtitles and ask about the Mandarin and Cantonese equivalents, he realized the way he and Ryan had been conceptualizing the process of learning Chinese was limited. “They were already learning on their own, in the way they wanted to learn,” Ning explains, “and learning from _who_ they wanted to learn from.”

After asking Joey and Leslie again, this time posing the question to be about learning Chinese _in general,_ Ryan and Ning learned that Joey and Leslie _did_ want to learn Chinese—just not in Chinese school, because with Ning frequently traveling during the workweek (and Ryan, too, but not as often) and Chinese school usually being held on Saturdays, it would mean less time with their father on the weekends. “They say they want me to teach instead. And want Ryan to be there, too,” Ning recounts with a chuckle.

Now they hold family Chinese lessons every weekend, joined by Ryan’s grandparents (who take over teaching them Cantonese, which is another plus for not going to Chinese school, since those programs usually only offer Mandarin) and the Nguyen-Ngs. More recently, Nora has started teaching their class Vietnamese, and whenever Ning’s parents come to visit, Ning’s mother also teaches them traditional Chinese painting.

While Ryan and Ning seem to have figured out the parenting thing, they do experience some challenges that come with being in the public eye. Having only had the cameras aimed at them after they reached adulthood, Ryan and Ning are determined to give their children the same privacy by not allowing them to be photographed. Nor have they disclosed the paternity (only that both children were born via surrogacy) or genders of their children, and they have no plans to do so (in general, they request avoiding using pronouns when referring to their children to prevent misgendering—just use their names instead).

“From the start, we knew we didn’t want them in the public eye or to force gender roles on them,” Ryan says. “We want our kids to have the freedom to explore their identities without judgment and especially without any body-shaming.”

“When the kids get older, maybe we will talk to them about what they want to share, but for right now, they are too young to understand what it means to make information about themselves public,” Ning explains. “But one thing we will never tell is paternity, even though many keep trying to guess which of the kids is ours because of the similarities in our body types or height or whatever. Maybe you can guess as they get older, but we do not plan to confirm.”

Ryan scoffs. “Mostly they think they know because they think all Chinese people look the same.”

“Our own kids don’t know paternity either because most important thing is they know we love them both, regardless of whose DNA they have. When they are older and if they want to know, we will tell them, but we see no use in telling anyone else. Why does it matter?” Ning says. “They’re both ours, and we see ourselves in both. For example, Joey loves cheese—”

“Ning always says that like it’s a moral failing,” Ryan interjects as he rolls his eyes. “But yeah, they take after both of us. Leslie tends to be much more patient than Joey, making Leslie more like Ning, personality-wise. If you asked Joey and Leslie about which of our jobs they’d rather have, Joey would say acting, while Leslie would say fashion.”

“Not that we want them to follow in our footsteps—we want them to discover for themselves what they want to do, but when they are much older. There is no rush,” Ning adds. “But Joey likes the energy on film set, likes visiting me more than Ryan because Joey says Ryan tells people to stay still too much. Leslie is more quiet, enjoys watching Ryan working on designs in his office, likes learning about shapes and colors and how everything goes together.”

But most of all, Joey and Leslie love cooking alongside both sets of grandparents. Both children enjoy learning by doing, making learning how to make their family’s food the perfect sensory play activity.

“We are lucky they are happy to be pretty Chinese so far,” Ning says with a laugh. “If they change their minds later, that’s okay, too. Doesn’t mean it will be forever if they change their minds, and will always be here if they find their way back later in life. Still okay if they don’t.” He nudges Ryan. “Something you’ve been learning too, huh?”

Ryan shrugs. “Eh, sounds familiar,” he says casually. He then yelps when Ning fakes pushing him off his lap.

—

**HELPING THE GAYBORHOOD—THE RAINBOW FORTUNE HOUSE IS BORN**

The year was 2006, and Ryan and his parents were staring at each other in shock, the mooncake his parents were eating now on the floor. Ryan had just come out to his parents during his junior year of college. His mother quietly sweeping up the mooncake as his father rushed to calm down his confused grandmother—who didn’t know yet because Ryan didn’t know how to say it in Cantonese and had to leave his parents the task of breaking it to her—would be the last Ryan saw of his family for an entire year.

“That was when I first realized how likely it was that I would no longer have any connections to Chinese culture in the future. Sure, my family was still around, even if they didn’t want to acknowledge my existence anymore, but there’d be a day when the only person left would be me, and then I _really_ wouldn’t have a choice about whether Chinese culture would have a place in my life—it just wouldn’t be.” Ryan sighs. “And it was the first time I realized that I didn’t want a Chinese-less future. But at the same time, I was too upset and bitter about being disowned to take any steps to fix that, so I just buried all those feelings.”

Aside from one “humiliating” attempt to observe a Chinese holiday, Ryan focused on carving out a place for himself in the local gay community. He threw himself into his work, accepting he no longer had access to Chinese culture or a place in his family, and found a home in the fashion world when renowned NYC-based fashion designer Francesca Altadonna hand-picked him to intern for her during the summer, before offering him a full-time job upon graduation.

Then, his grandmother fell sick. “My parents came pounding on the door of my dorm and told me Mama was in the hospital. As we were waiting for the doctor to tell us what was going on, we all sort of realized just how close we were to losing each other with all these things still unresolved, and after that, I was part of the family again. It took a while, but they eventually accepted me being gay, and now, they’re my biggest supporters.” Ryan laughs. “They went from nagging me about getting a girlfriend to finding a husband. While it was still annoying, it was also kind of nice because this kind of nagging about finding a significant other is such a common, normal occurrence in Chinese families, and now I got to experience it, too.”

Fast-forward to 2026, and Ryan and Ning were at their second Pride together since coming out as a couple, when Ryan stopped in his tracks. “I was just thinking about how lucky I was to have everything I have—accepting parents, Ning, Ning as my _husband,_ loving and supportive friends aside from how often they roast me, a more cohesive identity, a thriving company—and all in just twenty years since I’d first come out. And then it hit me—I’d been out half my life by then, which meant from then on, I’d always be out for _more than half my life._ When I first came out, I never even dreamed I’d get to have any of those things, let alone make it to that age.”

Ryan then found himself thinking about the year he was alone more and more, specifically about how he had never felt so disconnected from his family and cultural background during any other point in his life. “I then realized I wanted to do something for the kid I had been, for the family we used to be. I wanted to help out other people so they wouldn’t have to go through the same thing I did, especially those with immigrant parents who don’t know English and can’t access information and resources as easily. I wanted people to have a place to come _in_ to if they chose to come out.”

Ning was onboard as soon as Ryan told him about his idea; he also did not want other people to have to go through what he did. He wanted to create a space where they would feel welcome, even if they weren’t sure they had a place there yet. “So we started to plan. Thought about—what do people need, what do we want to accomplish, how do we make this place a home? Kids need tutoring or just a place to do homework. Some are interested in learning their families’ languages. Support group needs a space to meet, need parents with experience raising LGBT kids to guide and support inexperienced parents. Then we went from there.”

When Ryan’s parents heard about their idea, they immediately volunteered themselves as interpreters, heritage language teachers, and general support, as did many others in their circle (Full disclosure: There is much overlap between the parent volunteers for the RFH and for the volunteers who translate _GAYSIAN AMERICA_ into over a dozen languages—thanks, parents!). Ryan and Ning themselves had the idea to offer workshops in their respective fields once a month and mentor those interested in acting or fashion careers. The one thing everyone involved so far was adamant about was that no one who would be coming to the RFH was to celebrate holidays by themselves.

As more people heard about Ryan and Ning’s plans to start the RFH, the project expanded to the spacious, colorful, and welcoming community house it is now. Even though Ryan and Ning knew they were in good company, they were still struck by how much love, care, and enthusiasm everyone who wanted to help exhibited—and that is to say, _everyone_ wanted to help. Nora Nguyen-Ng became executive director, retiring from modeling when she discovered her passion for running the RFH. Jia Hui Wen left the FashionEASTas with their full support to become the RFH’s assistant executive director. After hearing about Ryan and Ning’s ideas to hold monthly workshops, various members of our _GAYSIAN AMERICA_ network and their own social circles volunteered our own services as representatives from an array of fields, ranging from (but not limited to) healthcare, law, and journalism.

Today, the RFH offers all these for free and more: after school tutoring, especially for students whose parents do not know English; weekend classes in a dozen languages (and counting); separate support groups for LGBT individuals and for their family members; cooking lessons, both for their family’s food and for those learning how to cook in general; counseling services; clothing swaps and drives; a mentorship program, with mentees ranging from middle school students to young professionals; a surrogate grandparent-grandchild program (LGBT retirees are matched up with LGBT youth and young adults); STI testing; safer sex demonstrations; and of course, celebrations of holidays as a family. Celebrations are not limited to cultural holidays; older kids in the RFH community partner up with younger children to visit local neighborhood stores for candy, before they’re all transported to the FashionEASTas office in Tribeca for the Halloween party they throw every year.

“A common misconception people have about the RFH is you can only come if you know for sure you are LGBT,” Ning says. “But that’s not true. We welcome anyone who is feeling confused or lost about themselves. Come join us as you figure it out, you don’t have to do alone. Even if you eventually find out you are not LGBT, it’s okay. You learned something about yourself, and anyway, we always love getting more volunteers. And you don’t have to be out to come to the RFH—we do not require you tell us why you are here. Even for support groups, which are voluntary, you offer as much information as you want to. For family members of LGBT people, whether they are out to you or you think they might be LGBT, come join us as well! We here at the RFH know that the feelings can be confusing, and here, you can meet others who are in similar situation. You don’t have to do it alone; there is strength in learning together.”

“Another misconception people have is that the RFH helps Asians only. Sure, the majority of our community is Asian, but that’s only because a lot of NYC’s immigrant community is Asian,” Ryan says. “The RFH serves all immigrant families because even though we all come from different cultural backgrounds, we’ve all had similar experiences with culture clash, language brokering, older family members not knowing English, not having the language skills to talk about LGBT topics with our families, not being able to find resources in the languages we need, not knowing the professional skills we need for interviews and work in general, not having people in our lives we can talk to about these kinds of things… and so on. Even if we may not be able to help you ourselves because it’s not a situation any of us are experienced with, it’s not a service or resource we currently have, or our current resources and services are not in a language you need, or whatever else, we may be able to connect you to someone who does—following _GAYSIAN AMERICA_ ’s lead, we’ve been building a network of our own. We’re—” Ryan makes a face before conceding, “—okay, it _is_ a useful phrase _some_ times—building a village for you to come into.”

Then, it was June 2029, and in the middle of juggling their busy careers, raising Joey, and preparing for the birth of Leslie, Ryan and Ning were cutting the ribbon for the RFH’s grand opening and bidding everyone to partake in their rainbow-themed brunch, from rainbow bagels to muffins to artistically arranged fruit.

At some point during the enthusiastic chaos, Ryan’s parents beckoned Ryan off to the side and formally apologized for the year they were not in his life. All of them struggling to talk through their tears, Ryan waved their apology away, having forgiven them over a decade ago.

“It’s not something everyone feels comfortable doing, which is valid,” Ryan says of forgiving his parents, “but for me, it felt right. My parents have come such a long way since then, and I’ve never doubted their love for me since. I forgave them because that was my way of letting go of the pain, of moving on, because I deserved to be happy, because they needed to be able to let go of the pain and guilt, too.”

Then he presented them with mooncake he’d specially ordered since they’re only sold during Mid-Autumn Festival, and they each took a slice. As they all bit in, Ryan felt a lump grow in his throat, but it went down easy. What had always tasted like cloying sweetness to the point of revulsion now tasted like unconditional acceptance, joy, and love.

—

**NAVIGAYTING THEIR RELASIANSHIP, THEN AND NOW**

Looking back on all their years together, Ryan and Ning both know they’ve come a long way from the prideful and prejudiced people they used to be—and _had_ to come, in order to get and maintain what they have now, which is why they haven’t sat down for an interview until today.

“We’ve appeared in public before as a couple but haven’t really talked about our relationship because frankly, we didn’t feel ready. We didn’t want to talk about it because we didn’t want to answer the same questions over and over while we ourselves were still getting used to being married and being an openly gay couple,” Ryan says.

“I myself was a little worried it would strain our relationship. We have grown a lot but it’s a similar situation to the press conference. Early days of our relationship after getting back together, we were apart more than together, a very difficult long-distance relationship. By the time we married, I only just permanently moved to the U.S., so we wanted to ground our relationship before we started talking about it,” Ning explains. “And then… well, we had kids, started the Rainbow Fortune House, continued building our careers… we forgot about telling our story until you asked.”

“And we love you,” Ryan adds. “You always bring the best desserts to our Lunar New Year potluck here at the RFH.”

(That’s what I do best, after all. It’s how I’m so good at playing the long game.)

Ryan gauges his own development by reminiscing about when they first announced their engagement. “Everyone says this, but it’s good advice— _never_ look yourself up on the internet,“ Ryan says with a laugh. “When we first decided to incorporate some Chinese wedding traditions into our own wedding, I was doing some research, and search results about our own upcoming wedding showed up because people were wondering if we were going to do any, who I was, how Ning and I met… if I was the same guy from that _NYChina_ photo…” He takes a deep breath before exhaling slowly. “If I, as an American, was good enough—Chinese enough—for Ning.”

Ning shakes his head and squeezes Ryan’s hand. “They judge you unfairly. You have always been enough—perfect—for me.”

“You for me, too,” Ryan replies, before continuing. “When we announced our engagement, I knew abstractly that people were going to be wondering this about me—strangers _and_ family, especially our families overseas. At the time, I worried about not being a good enough Chinese person, even though I knew logically that Ning loves me as I am and has never pushed me to be more Chinese than I am. But _now_ —and this is how I know I’ve grown—I don’t care if people say I don’t know enough Chinese or Ning shouldn’t have married an American. I know myself to be _Chinese American enough,_ which is all that matters to me and thus is all that matters to Ning.”

As for the trust issues stemming from the 2015 _NYChina_ incident—”I have gotten much better at opening up, too. I used to think I had to do everything on my own, to look out for myself, but I’ve since learned how to trust again. Not just to trust that Ning—or anyone else—isn’t out to get me, but to trust that whatever happens, Ning and I are equipped to handle it together.”

_[photo of Ryan and Ning in their red cheongpo]_

_Ryan and Ning at their Chinese wedding tea ceremony in 2025._

“For me, I compare how I used to blame myself for everything when we broke up first time. If only I had been more careful, if only I did not worry so much about my secret getting out, if only I did not think so negatively about being gay and was more comfortable about it,” Ning says. “But as Ryan always reminds me, it was not all on me. Some was him and how he grow up with no shame about being gay and how he wanted me to be like that, too, when it was not possible for me yet. No place to come into. But even _more_ was _NYChina,_ which I have no control over. Now, I do not always put all blame on myself. I am much kinder to myself, am able to focus on doing better the next time instead of just beating myself up. Can’t move on that way.”

Ning has also seen big changes in how he thinks about his sexuality. “I am more comfortable with being gay now, too. I have not thought gay is abnormal for a long time now, but even in past, when I no longer think it is abnormal, I still just accept it as something I can’t change about myself that I will never want to tell even my family and friends. Now, I am at peace with myself. I don’t just accept it about myself; I love being gay and no longer question if I belong or not because I know I do.”

Their secret? Communication.

“It’s a cliché, but it’s true. Communication really _is_ key, and we did a _lot_ of talking in our early days of getting back together to lay down the foundation of our relationship. Seriously, if Ning wasn’t making me swoon with yet another grand romantic gesture of his, we were having yet another deep, meaningful, honest conversation about our relationship,” Ryan says, throwing up his hands. “I couldn’t catch a break! And I seriously needed one because my heart couldn’t handle all those gestures or the super romantic things Ning would say during our Important Conversations, which were about our future, if we wanted kids, how we wanted to juggle living in two different countries… all that good stuff.”

_[photo of Ryan and Ning in their wedding-day suits]_

_Ryan and Ning on their wedding day, 2025._

“ _Hey,_ ” Ning protests. “You make _me_ swoon, too—the _tattoo._ But yes, I agree. Communication is very important in relationship. We talk about everything, always make sure we know how the other is feeling, what they worry about, how they want to handle a situation. When we don’t know something, always stop and ask, like when we did not know how Joey and Leslie feel about learning Chinese. It’s how we build back each other’s trust after _NYChina_ photo, help each other become more comfortable with parts of ourselves we used to hate.”

With how much traveling both of them have to do for their jobs, they always make a point to have a conversation for at least five minutes a day when they’re apart, whether by text or call. They also send each other selfies every day, even when they’re together, snapping the photo with their kids quickly before ushering them off to school.

These short exchanges help them ease into their longer, emotionally heavier conversations. “Sometimes, when we have difficult conversation, like maybe I am thinking about taking a role that would keep me away from home for more than a month—very rare now—and we don’t know what to say because I know Ryan wants me to continue telling stories I want to tell and doesn’t want to say he and the kids miss me, even though I know, and I myself want to be home and be with kids… It is hard because we just want the other to be happy. We then use selfies we sent as icebreaker, remind each other we love each other, remember we only want best for each other,” Ning explains. “And then we say that, clear up what we are thinking, instead of just guessing what we think the other is thinking.”

“And we never go to bed angry,” Ryan adds. “We don’t always resolve something before going to bed, but we’ll agree to take a break and remind each other we’re on the same team. We also extend our policy of always saying what we mean and not assuming anything to the rest of our family and friends. No lifelong baggage on our watch!”

For all that they constantly check in with each other, keeping track of their kids, furthering their careers, and overseeing the RFH’s operations, though, they seem rather tight-lipped about their future and even current projects. All they’ve been able to offer is that Ning has just been cast in a movie in which he plays a widowed man who discovers his attraction to men later in life and now has to choose between the family he raised and the romantic partner he has found in another man in a similar situation, while Ryan has been focusing on his upcoming spring collection, which promises to be his most daring work yet, featuring the graceful lines and unique patterns he’s become famous for and taking them to the next level.

“It’s not that we’re keeping it a secret from you, I promise,” Ryan says, laughing as Ning kisses him behind the ear again. “It’s just that we really don’t know. We’ve just been taking it day by day, now that we know we have time. And because kids are so unpredictable. For example, we know Joey wants to learn piano now, and Leslie violin, but who knows what they’ll say tomorrow? It’s better that we don’t have anything set in stone, that we just get ready to adapt to new circumstances. At this point, we’re just living life, having fun, and falling in love all over again every single day.”

“All we know is—we put fire and water together, make it boil. Now the water is boiled, but still hot,” Ning adds, laughing as well. “And we will take a lifetime to cool down.”

—

**Q & GAY**

_Questions for Ryan and Ning were submitted to us via Twitter, and we’ve published some below. Make sure you’re following us on social media (@gaysianamerica on everything) for upcoming Q & GAYs!_

**Q: What’s your favorite movie out of all the ones Ning has done so far? (This question is for both of you)**

> Ryan: I don’t think anyone’s going to be surprised it’s _The Same Wife_ for me.
> 
> Lisa: How many have you seen it now? Close to 520 times yet? Is that your goal? Or is it 1314 times?
> 
> Ning: See? This is why I never remarry. Already married my biggest fan.
> 
> Ryan: _(to Ning)_ Shut up. _(to Lisa)_ That wasn’t the question, so I don’t have to answer.
> 
> Ning: My favorite is《城中谍》, or you know as _Spy City_ (2020). Because even though it is very silly espionage action movie, I like the way Ryan looks whenever he sees me shirtless in it.
> 
> Lisa: Wait, hang on. _This_ is the movie Claire [Hsu-Silva] showed clips from to Ryan on her YouTube channel, right? To see if he could guess where in the movie the clip was from, going by just shots of your abs? _(admiringly)_ And he could, too. Got all of them right.
> 
> Ryan: _(groans, hides his face in his hands)_ Yes.

**Q: Ryan, why did you grow your hair out?**

> R: I always wanted to, but I never felt confident enough about doing it, though now that I’ve done it, I never want to go back. This feels more like me.

**Q: What are some things you do to keep the spark in your relationship? Also, what’s the most ‘bro’-y thing you guys do? (Note: I said ‘bro,’ not ‘brothers.’)**

> N: Little surprises for each other. Ryan surprised me one day by leaving me a note he wrote himself, in Chinese. So now I always leave him a note, sometimes in English, sometimes in Chinese.
> 
> R: It’s good practice. _(laughs)_ Though sometimes Ning writes Chinese too quickly and I can’t read it or look it up, so I just wait until he comes home to decipher it together. We do this with audio messages to practice Cantonese and Mandarin with each other, too. Also, when Ning’s about to go off for work again, he’ll draw a butterfly on our bathroom mirror, which is always a nice surprise to find at the end of a long day.
> 
> N: So you remember I will always come back to you. And of course, the daily selfies. Have to make sure my outfit doesn’t clash without Ryan with me.
> 
> R: Again, I didn’t know _GAYSIAN AMERICA_ was going to make that their headline [for the August 2023 issue]!
> 
> N: Note feels very pointed at me. Anyway, I think… wrestling.
> 
> R: Which only started because you love messing up my hair. _I’m_ just defending myself.

**Q: Ning, what stories would you like to see told?**

> N: We need more stories that are about LGBT people who are not from the West because I feel there is still a misconception, like in my own family, that if you are not white and are LGBT, it is due to Western influence or only something Westerners experience, when that is not true.

**Q: Ning is always holding Ryan in your selfies. Let Ryan hold Ning for once. It’s equality!**

> R: You hear that, honey? It’s equality!
> 
> N: But I like holding you!
> 
> R: So do I! Come on, let’s switch. For equality. _(Ning reluctantly gets into Ryan’s lap)_ There we go. Much better.

**Q: Ryan, do you still remember my title?**

> N: Wait, wait, can I try?
> 
> R: Have at it.
> 
> N: Your title is—Mrs. Nguyen-Ng at Life, Glorious Empress of Wordplay, Queen of Unlimited Puntential, Leader of the Reeseistance, and last but not least, Champi-PUN of the World.
> 
> R: That’s exactly it, my shi _ning_ star.
> 
> N: How long you wait to use that one?

**Q: Ryan, are you behind the recent resurgence of interest for _Cover My Front_ (2030)? That is, are you @cmfsequelpls520 on Twitter? Some of the outfits FBI agent Nick Lin and single dad Ray Kim wear in their fanart are VERY familiar… **

> R: No comment.

**Q: Ning, what happened to that reporter who kept calling you a hypocrite for having said being abnormal is gay in the past? Are you allowed to say?**

> N: You mean the one seven years ago, who only stop asking after I tell him I said that because I had internalized homophobia, that I hated myself so much? He and his boss apologized. Eventually.

**Q: What’s your favorite memory of the Rainbow Fortune House’s early days?**

> N: Definitely the food. Everyone and their parents bring so much food as we were setting up and when we got our first visitors. Even though we were only starting to know each other, already can feel like a family because we share food and eat together. Food really is one of my favorite expressions of love.
> 
> R: This is only funny now, but when my parents kept insisting we move furniture everywhere for feng shui reasons. We were miserable during, but now I look back on it fondly because my parents were the same exact way both times we had to set up the FashionEASTas office. Before, I thought it was annoying, but now I see it’s just my parents’ way of showing support.

**Q: In the context of your relationship now, the NYC critic screening for _The Same Wife_ hosted by the China Film Society back in 2022 is _very_ interesting.**

> N: _(laughing)_ This… this isn’t a question? But uh, yes… very interesting.
> 
> _[photo of Ryan and Ning at the podium, looking at each other—Ryan is wide-eyed with shock, and Ning has a shy smile on his lips]_
> 
> _Ryan and Ning at the critic screening, 2022. COURTESY OF REESE AND NORA NGUYEN-NG_

**Q: What’s the funniest reaction people had when you came out as a couple?**

> N: _(grimaces)_ I guess… how many people say, “I thought you were brothers”? And they mean… they thought we were _actual_ long-lost brothers. Partly because they think all Chinese people are related, I feel. But also because— _(glares at Ryan)_
> 
> R: Again, I am very sorry about that! Of all the things that have come back to bite me in the a—, why did it have to be this? Also, I guess, related is how headlines before used to say things like _Ning and Best Bro Ryan Spotted Hanging Out,_ and then as they were rushing to publish their articles after we came out, there were quite a few that called me Ning’s _brofriend._

**Q: What would you tell your younger selves based on what you know now?**

> R: The feeling of hating being Chinese, the fear of no longer being able to connect to Chinese culture—these get less intense over time, and there are ways to manage those feelings. Just be patient and keep working at it.
> 
> N: Be kinder to yourself. There is nothing wrong with who you are. And still hold yourself accountable and take the blame, but only for what you did wrong, not all of it. If take all the blame, you are miserable and for no good reason. You need to figure out what you are responsible for. Otherwise you won’t grow.

**Q: Do your kids know the story of how you got together? If not, how would you tell it?**

> R: They know we met during work and then didn’t see each other for seven years. Otherwise, no, they don’t know much.
> 
> N: Maybe when we do tell, don’t sound so happy about hating me?
> 
> R: Oh my god, shut _up._

**Q: I love your Halloween family costumes! Which one is your favorite?**

> R: I think the one where I was Ash, Ning was Gary, Joey was Happiny, and Leslie was Togepi, from when Leslie was about a year old. I know my hair’s going to start graying soon because my dad’s hair grayed early, and the only reason I’m looking forward to it is I get to be Professor Oak.
> 
> N: _(shakes head)_ You and your creatures. My favorite is the year after, when we went as the family from Disney’s _Bao,_ with Joey and Leslie both as our Bao.

**Q: What is the most challenging part of being parents of two kids while having your own careers?**

> N: Definitely scheduling. I try not to be gone longer than a month anymore—and not more than total of three months a year—and if I am close enough, I will come home for weekends. I am lucky I am able to find work closer to home, so I don’t go away that often anymore. But I still have weird hours sometimes—have to shoot early morning or late night, so I sometimes am sleeping when everyone else is awake.
> 
> R: Not to mention the annual trips we make to see Ning’s parents and my other family. It was easier when the kids weren’t in school, but now we can only go during the summer. _(laughs)_ And they always complain because it’s so humid. Ning definitely travels for work more than I do, but when I travel, I tend to go farther, but we always make sure there’s at least one of us at home. We have my parents next door helping out, too, which makes everything easier.

**Q: Do you have any pet peeves about each other?**

> N: Nothing.
> 
> R: Really? _(disbelievingly)_ Really. Because I have, like, a list.
> 
> N: Hm, maybe this one. You should really learn how to choose seafood properly. Americans not very good at it. _(furrows his eyebrows)_ You have a list? What’s your list?
> 
> R: Let's see, hm? You’re always forgetting to shave; you always have a lot of thoughts about me learning Chinese; you’re always sweeping me off my feet with your romantic gestures, which makes it hard for me to focus on getting you back; when I _finally_ get a chance to pull off a romantic gesture, you accuse me of showing off; and… that’s four. Oh! And lately, you’ve been doing this thing where you’ll storm into wherever I am, demanding _a Chinese American stylist immediately,_ and I keep thinking it’s an emergency, but no, you’re just trying to be cute.
> 
> N: You don’t think it’s _actually_ cute?
> 
> R: _(laughing)_ Of _course_ I do! But sometimes I don’t see why you’d need a stylist for whatever you were calling me for at the time? Like that time you and the kids saw the first butterfly of spring and came into the kitchen hollering at me? I’d _just_ remembered how to write the Chinese word for _welcome!_
> 
> N: Ask me why.
> 
> R: Why what?
> 
> N: Why I do it.
> 
> R: Because you think it’s a cute reference to why we met in the first place?
> 
> N: No.
> 
> R: Okay, fine, I’ll play your game. Ning, why are you always calling for a Chinese American stylist?
> 
> N: Because love… _(smiles)_ is always in style.

_[photo of Ryan and Ning sharing a tender kiss]_

_One more for the road._

* * *

**blessfu** ∙ 8h

WHOO! HAPPY 20TH BDAY TO @gaysianamerica! It is a gaymazing honor for us @fashioneastas to be a part of your journey. This YEAR’s theme: DEDIGAYSIAN. To an eternity more of supporting and celebrating experiences of LGBT Asians everywhere! @blessfuhusband @lisagaysam @reesistng @nguyennoratakesall @ellekimsingh @jiahuiwen @rainbowfortunehouse @jntlvnmua @indextrious #gaysianamerica #gay #lgbt #gaysian #asian #frontcover #nyc #fashionEASTas #asianamerican #gaysianamerican #fashion #gayfashion #asianfashion #lgbtpoc #pride #fathersday #gaysianpride

[photo set of the _GAYSIAN AMERICA_ front covers for May, June, and July:

**May**

| 

**June**

| 

**July**  
  
---|---|---  
  
_[image of Reese hugging Nora from behind, Nora’s lustrous black hair mingling with Reese’s long asymmetrical gaylaxy ombre bob]_

| 

_[image of Ryan and Ning recreating the Crazy Rich Asians poster, with Ryan as Rachel and Ning as Nick]_

| 

_[image of Elle Kim-Singh and Jia Hui Wen in their wedding-day suits at the altar]_  
  
**Happy Mothers’ Day!**

_Love is always in style, Part 1_

Reese and Nora of the Nguyen-Ng team talk FashionEASTas, representasian, and self-discovery

| 

**Happy Fathers’ Day!**

_Love is always in style, Part 2_

Our conversasian with the FashionEASTas continues, this time with Ryan Manyong Fu-Qi and husband Xiaoning

| 

**The Wedding _Bi_ des**

_Love is always in style, Part 3_

Elle Kim-Singh and Jia Hui Wen on the FashionEASTas, love, and am _bi_ tion  
  
]

♥ 888,888 likes

> **momdadfu** @blessfuhusband finaly. good job take care love you both
> 
> **lisagaysam** always love having you all with us! miss you already xoxo
> 
> **nguyennoratakesall** the asians came through AGAIN THANKS Y’ALL!!!!!!!!
> 
> **jntlvnmua** all of you look so good! ♥♥♥
> 
> **lisagaysam** so i was thinking. they should really make a movie just abt your tattoo alone. romcom, biopic, whatever @blessfu @blessfuhusband
> 
> **nguyennoratakesall** both! you can’t say their biopic WOULDN’T be a romcom
> 
> **blessfu** if it’s a biopic can godfrey gao PLEASE be in it
> 
> **blessfuhusband** Oh I see. You just want to finally fulfill your fantasy of replacing me with him. You never got over marrying me and not him, huh.
> 
> **blessfu** actually, i want him to play ME. i want YOU to play yourself in it bc at least one of us deserves to fall in love with him on the big screen, and i love you enough to let you have that privilege
> 
> **blessfuhusband** I don’t want to fall in love with Godfrey Gao! I already have you!
> 
> **reeseistng** gaysian romcom idea: two gaysians start out as enemies bc culture clash but then fall in love and have a passionate affair and then homophobia forces them apart… but then they get a second chance at love and it’s super gay as soon as they lay eyes on each other again…
> 
> **blessfu** i'm listening
> 
> **lisagaysam** there’s a lot of mutual pining and lovelorn looks at the other person when they think they’re not looking… lots of flirting, heartfelt apologies, grand romantic gestures… however, even then, they’re afraid to try again. super tragic
> 
> **reeseistng** but THEN one day character A is tucking character B’s hair behind their ear… and then discovers the tattoo character B got as a reminder of their mistake in letting character A go all those years ago…
> 
> **blessfuhusband** I like that.
> 
> **reeseistng** ON MY HEART LIKE A TA-FU. STARRING GODFREY GAO AND STARLETT NOCANTSSON. COMING AT YOU IN 2042
> 
> **reeseistng** and yes, it IS still marketed as a gaysian movie.
> 
> **ellekimsingh** BLOCKED
> 
> **blessfuhusband** Thanks I hate it.
> 
> **nguyennoratakesall** babe… that hurt me why would you wish such energy into existence
> 
> **jiahuiwen** how could you do that to godfrey gao?
> 
> **blessfu** …all THAT aside, i love the idea. hollywood, step on it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now for this final round-up of front cover-related things that made me cry recently, jake choi sees [his sexuality as fluid](https://www.verygoodlight.com/2018/09/26/jake-choi/) and credits _front cover_ with prompting him to reflect on his sexuality (not during the filming itself, but afterward, when interviewers kept asking and prompted him to ask himself about his sexuality), james chen talks about [acting and representation](http://www.iconvsicon.com/2018/09/24/unstoppable-james-chen-on-his-career-breakout-role-on-iron-fist-and-more/) (including some stuff about _front cover_ , and james chen tuned in to watch [jake choi on _single parents_](https://twitter.com/jamesCchen/status/1045122499376222208) (and you should too!). 
> 
> also, james chen has a recurring role on the dick wolf show _FBI_ , is on _iron fist_ (and _the walking dead_ , ofc) and will be in an upcoming thing called _fluidity_ , which looks at love in the age of social media, while jake choi is going to be in _the sun is also a star_ (2019).
> 
> also also as a bonus thing i'm crying over, [drunk lesbians watched _saving face_ (2004)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gQnvxtMeoUI). WITH THE LOVES OF MY LIFE, MICHELLE KRUSIEC AND LYNN CHEN. IT TRULY IS 20GAYTEEN!!!
> 
> i keep thinking about it and like. i was so close to sticking wil and vivian from _saving face_ in here, but reese and nora won out bc of their punny surnames ad;lfk;sldk (but also with how focused i was on giving ryan and ning their happy ending, i would've been too busy/distracted to give wil and vivian the sequel they deserve).
> 
> now i'm going to lie down and cry about all the other front cover ideas my mind keeps tormenting me with that i don't see myself writing bc i have to figure out [chris chow's journey](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12363711) now. i hope i do not get distracted from that again bc i did not expect to get THAT distracted and for THAT long (tho currently, i'm crying about a front cover college au that's morphed into a crossover with saving face...)
> 
> special thanks again to my beta inkwellofstars and my friend N for helping me with the chinese translations!!! without my beta's support especially, this fic would not have gone as far as it did (and extra kudos to her for deciding to see this fic through even though it eventually grew to slightly over 3x its original length)
> 
> also thank you so much for coming to my ted talk!!!!!!! this is the longest thing i've ever written and the first time i ever exceeded 100k (and i've never written such a long chaptered thing like this before--the next thing that comes close is a ~70k fic series), and it really means so much to me to know there have been people tuning in every week to watch ryan and ning's happy ending unfold. i know this fandom is more of a fandot but i love and appreciate all of you! i get so emotional thinking about gaysians and it makes me so happy/feel not so alone as like one of like 2 gaysians i know irl (including myself rip)
> 
> also also so i'm late in terms of posting this around the anniversary of when they first met during mid-autumn festival in 2015 (9/27), and i'm late in posting this around mid-autumn festival of this year (9/24), but you know what i'm NOT late for? posting this for mid-autumn festival in 2025, the year they get married! in fact, i am seven years EARLY! WHOOOOO
> 
> p.s. forgot to say this earlier, but back when this fic had 40-something hits, i remember seeing it at 43 hits and i was like Oh No (bc 44) but the next time i checked, it was at like 47? so thank you to all of you for looking out for me! i love you!!!!!!!

**Author's Note:**

> things that keep me up late at night because i only want to read them, not write: college au where ning is ryan's chinese tutor; a fake dating thing that builds on the fake dating from the movie; a grindr thing where ryan has been secretly chatting with someone he doesn't know is ning on grindr, while the rest of the movie happens as is; a saving face x front cover crossover where ryan, vivian, and wil have been friends since they were babies and ryan keeps having to pretend to date one of them as a favor, which is why wil's and vivian's families HATE him; a pride and prejudice thing where ning's mr. darcy, all grouchy and arrogant, and ryan's just like "who does he THINK HE IS??????"


End file.
